


As the Blood Runs Dry

by AMaskOnTwoFaces



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And I don't want to miss anything that might trigger someone!, And am only now starting to think about the tags, And edit them in with each chapter that I post, Apathetic Harry Potter, Author maybe regrets this Scene, BAMF Harry Potter, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, But I have already written almost 7 chapters, But I promise it's not all dark, But this story includes a lot of dark subjects, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton Has PTSD, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Elder Wand (Harry Potter), Even though that isn't immediately obvious when you read it, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry/Bucky IS consensual, Harry/Tony is non-con because Tony is under the influence, Hydra (Marvel), I can't believe "blood drinking during sex" isn't a recognized tag, I give instructions in the beginning author's notes about how to skip the smut, I just find it useful for introducing and/or studying characters, I know it's not for everyone, I take this warning very seriously, I usually make a note of the tags as I write, I will ruin them for you, I'm Ace and don't want to write sex scenes unless they add to the story, I'm giving you smut, I'm not as organized with my tagging on this fic as I usually am, Imprisonment, Inappropriate Use of Wands (Harry Potter), Kidnapping, Like, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Multiverse, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Negotiated Kink, Object Insertion, On BOTH SIDES, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Voldemort, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sex While Brainwashed, Size Kink, So here's a breakdown of the consent in each relationship, So that scene may appear consensual until you read further, Sorry Not Sorry, Strength Kink, The relationships involving Voldemort are DEFINITELY non-con, Though most of it appears off-screen, Under-negotiated Kink, Usually I try to keep tags funny and lighthearted, Vampire Harry Potter, Vampires, Voldemort is a very bad person in this fic, Voldemort made them do it, Wand Play (Harry Potter), also, belly bulge, blood drinking during sex, but just happen to carry over, but you will be uncomfortable for every minute of it, can you believe I was listening to Christmas music while writing that scene?, can't believe I forgot to tag blood drinking in a vampire fic, coerced sex, especially the really serious non-con scene with good ole voldy, for each of the two chapters it occurs in, implied past Winter Soldier/Hydra goons, it doubles any of my others EASY, it's about the character study, more like they exist separately from the sex, most of the story is not smut, not the sex, oi my brain, overtones?, sex under threat, somehow this is the longest sex scene I've ever written to date, this is non-con y'all, whoops, you can't tell me the elder wand doesn't look suspiciously like a certain sex toy..., you thought you had one of those kinks?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaskOnTwoFaces/pseuds/AMaskOnTwoFaces
Summary: Harry's just trying to make his way in this new world, but he just can't seem to stop getting used by the bad guys.*	*	*“I knew him,” the Asset pleads, pushing as much emotion as his barren personality can muster into the words.Their master ignores him, “Wipe him, start over,” he says instead.Harry, to the side, looks on with cold, dispassionate eyes.  It’s frustrating to require your battle partner to relearn how to fight at your side time and time again.It is even more frustrating to be the pet of someone so obviously beneath you.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Others (implied), Harry Potter/Tony Stark, Harry Potter/Voldemort, James "Bucky" Barnes/Harry Potter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 50
Kudos: 391
Collections: Best Harry Potter Crossovers, Best Marvel Crossovers, earth’s mightiest heroes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! For the first time ever I'm posting a WIP when I have more than just one chapter written at a time. I have almost 7 chapters written so far, and expect this to be roughly 12 chapters in length. (And we'll all laugh at my naivety when this ends up much longer than that).
> 
> ***PLEASE READ THE TAGS***
> 
> The tags are very dark, but much of this work will only touch on those topics. The overall atmosphere should be a bit lighter than what those tags seem to outline.
> 
> I'm not a person who can adhere to any sort of schedule, so don't expect any sort of regularity with my updates, even though it's about halfway written at this point. Just know that updates are coming. I don't ever intend to abandon a project of mine once I commit to posting it.
> 
> If you're interested in skipping the non-con scenes, this chapter opens with one, so please skip to the line break about two thirds of the way down. You should be fine in understanding the plot if you start there. (Start at: "The sound of a gun cocking...")

Harry moans, uncaring how loud he is. _Merlin_ , the man—Tony—is so good with his mouth. He kisses around Harry’s neck, along his jaw, and up to his ear, nipping and pulling at the sensitive cartilage to send shivers down Harry’s spine. Harry tilts his head to give Tony more access; _anything_ to keep him doing that. 

He’s already so turned on from necking in the car ride over to the man’s flat, let alone the display of strength as he picked up Harry and carried him across the room until they hit a wall on the other side, where they still are now. Harry’s legs are wrapped around Tony’s hips, trying to pull the man closer to line up their erections, but the man is being such a tease and somehow manages to hold Harry up without letting their good parts get close, except for the few times where he chooses to roll forward, teasing, like— _Ah, fuck_ —like that.

Harry whines, trying to chase Tony’s hips again, trying to get _some_ sort of relief for his aching cock, but Tony just chuckles darkly in his ear and nips the skin a little harder, like an admonishment. He pulls back with a devil’s grin on his face, “Good things come to those who wait,” he says. His voice is rough, clearly affected.

“Fuck that,” Harry hisses.

“I’m trying,” the man smirks, burying his face in Harry’s neck again. Harry gladly offers the skin, arching his throat into Tony’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, try harder,” and— _Oh fuck yes!_ —Tony starts rolling his hips into Harry again, this time creating a constant, sinuous motion, not just a single tease, and Harry voices his approval with a long, drawn out moan.

“Fuck, your _voice_ ,” Tony growls against his skin, pressing his body in harder.

Harry replies by letting his head fall back against the wall, mewling now with each thrust.

They lose themselves in the rhythm for a bit, until Tony says, “Hold on,” and Harry is left scrabbling at his back as they suddenly push off the wall. He presses his forehead into Tony’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath as Tony walks them somewhere presumably less vertical. He’s deposited on a bed and crawls backwards to make room for Tony to join him on the mattress.

Harry’s mouth is soon claimed with a heated kiss, one that he has no choice but to melt into with a sigh. His shirt is quickly divested, and when Tony starts teething at his nipples, Harry full out whimpers at those little sparks traveling up his skin.

Slowly but surely, Tony’s mouth travels down the flat planes of his stomach, licking and nipping and sucking a path south. Harry’s trouser button is undone as he goes, the zipper lowering just before Tony’s hot breath ghosts across his erection, the feeling intense even through his briefs.

All too quickly the stimulation is gone, making way for Tony to divest Harry of his remaining clothes, and Harry unabashedly whines at the loss of heat, despite knowing that more is about to come. He whines again when Tony also takes this time to undress himself, leaving Harry untouched for even _longer_ , ugh.

There’s a slight hesitation when Tony goes to rid himself of his shirt, one that he quickly brushes past. When the man’s chest is revealed, it’s obvious what he’s unsure about; the massive device buried in the center of his chest, glowing a cheerful blue. There’s a myriad of scars surrounding it, leading to an easy deduction that the glowing bit is a medical device of some sort.

“Does it bother you?” Tony asks, when he notices the focus of Harry’s attention.

“No, does it bother you?” Harry counters.

“As long as you don’t punch it, we’ll be fine.”

“Brilliant. So why are you still _over there?_ ”

Tony huffs a laugh, then purrs as he stalks closer, feral grin sharp and eyes hooded, “Mmmm, maybe I was just enjoying the view.”

Harry makes a note to keep his magic away from the device, not wanting to take his chances with what seems to be a very important piece of technology. But he’s not too worried, as all the other technology in this world seems to not be affected by his magic.

Then he stops thinking for a while when Tony crawls back over him. And things get hot. And messy. And so very, very _good_.

“Ah, _fuck!_ I’m close!” Tony exclaims, reaching to help Harry out where he’s having a _wonderful_ time perched on Tony’s lap, riding the man furiously. But he brushes Tony off, needing to be at least somewhat coherent for this.

“No, come for me,” Harry orders, breathless, “I want to see it.”

And Tony does, arching with it. Harry strikes then, sinking his fangs in that gloriously exposed neck, and he drinks and drinks, feeling his own climax shake through his body when he tastes the hormones of Tony’s rush through his blood.

Merlin, Tony tastes _heavenly_ , but regretfully, he’s way to high profile to even think about draining, and after only a few pulls, Harry reluctantly closes the wound, resigning himself to just the small taste of the fine blood; a treat after the foul dredges of society that he tends to live off of. Those dredges may be a low risk way to stay fed, but every once in a while he tests his luck for a finer meal like this one, which he savors every little exquisite drop of.

And savor he does, giving a little moan of satisfaction when he licks the last of it from his lips, enjoying the combination of the rich, full flavor with the feel of his prey flopped tiredly under him, warm and pulsating with life. He casts a quick cleaning charm over their lower bodies, not worried about exposing his magic with Tony so out of it. He snuggles up to the warm body beneath him, relishing in its heat.

He might just be comfortable enough to fall asleep here…

* * *

The sound of a gun cocking startles him awake, and unthinkingly Harry calls his wand to his hand, shooting himself up into a defensive crouch. On a bed. Completely starkers. Facing the entire Avengers team, sans Tony—

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathes, looking behind him to find his left arm restraining the billionaire against the headboard. His instincts had led him to defending his prey as well, he realizes. Stark’s eyes are blown, still under Harry’s influence and staying docile because of it, but a little frown plays at the corners of his mouth, and his hand clutches where Harry is holding him back, either confused and uncertain due to the rude awakening of being thrown backwards, or because some part of his mind realizes that something’s not quite right. 

“Release him,” a tight voice demands, and Harry turns back to face the Black Widow, noticing a slight fear scent wafting from her despite her relaxed, battle-ready stance. He must have moved unnaturally fast when he awoke, making her now uncertain of winning a fight against him. Or she’s fearful for the safety of her teammate; a group like this must be very tight-knit.

“Remove whatever hold you have over him and leave, now, or you won’t like the consequences,” Captain America adds, hefting his shield.

Harry’s first instinct is to bare his fangs and hiss in defiance, but he chokes that back, instead forcing himself to release his prey before asking, “Could I get dressed first?”

“Slowly,” the Black Widow orders, looking no less trigger happy now that he’s apparently cooperating.

So he does, obviously setting his wand down on the bedside table, treating it like the weapon it is. Even if his opponents don’t understand quite what it is, they have seen him wield it in readiness to defend himself, and probably know to at least be wary of it. He won’t attempt to deceive them in that regard.

Hunting for clothing post-sex is an uncomfortable act with a large, hostile audience studying his every move and scanning every article he puts on for possible hidden weapons. However, if bearing this lets him walk free out of here, then he’ll do so. The consequences of this meal weren’t worth it at all, and knowing his luck, it’s obvious in retrospect that of course it’d be some of the most dangerous people in this world who’d finally catch him in his act.

Finally, he approaches the table his wand sat on and faces the Avengers again with his hands held up peaceably, “Alright. I’m going to grab my wand again,” he gestures to it with his head, “and I can either use it to cast a quick spell at Tony to remove the thrall, or I can leave here immediately, and the thrall will lift naturally in about an hour.”

“Would waiting be better?” the Widow questions.

Harry nods, keeping his hands lifted, “It would be a more gradual process, less jarring.”

“Then we would prefer to wait it out. But,” she continues, before he can try to leave, “we can’t trust you at your word that Stark will be better in an hour.”

“You wish to detain me?” He spits defensively, “I would have nothing but _trust_ that you would release me once the thrall has lifted.”

The Widow’s head cocks, “Then we compromise; one of us walks out of here with you, and together we wait in a public area until word comes that Stark is fine. _If_ that happens, you walk free.”

It’s probably his best bet, so he nods his assent. He turns to finally grab his wand, and his world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs: (Here's some Tony-centric fics since this chapter featured a lot of Tony)
> 
> the one where being a mythological figure is not just an Asgardian problem  
> by sinequanon  
> "It’s only on Tony's most maudlin days that he wishes he wasn't quite so immortal."  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865587
> 
> The (Not So) Great Pretender  
> by RayShippouUchiha  
> "“What,” Tony says softly but with a great depth of feeling, “the actual fuck just happened?”  
> “I believe, Sir,” JARVIS pipes up from the phone in his pocket, an unnecessary amount of what sounds like glee in his voice, “that you’ve once again managed to maintain your closely guarded secret identity. Truly your subterfuge skills know no bounds."  
> “You’re an asshole J,” Tony mutters back as he reaches up to rub at his temple. He either has a headache coming on or a blood clot. At this point he’s honestly not sure which he’d prefer.  
> "I did learn from the best, Sir,” JARVIS tells him sunnily."  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912708/chapters/29501541
> 
> Close to Godliness  
> by thebifrostgiant  
> "Loki’s trying to enjoy a nice bath but..."  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073778


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If,” a deep voice says, harsh with authority, “you answer all my questions, with no funny business, no movement on your part, we can look into getting you some… food, and maybe a more comfortable living situation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It has been a week for me, as I learned last night that the fall season for the high school team I teach is being cancelled. With how big teams in this activity tend to be, it was the right call, though it will be yet another disappointment for the students (State Championships last fall were cancelled for the first time ever due to a blizzard snowing out the one day we were able to book the only venue in the state that is big enough to hold the competition, and the Spring season was cut short with about a month left due to obvious reasons, and the Major League season was also cancelled outright for this summer). It's been a flurry of emotions and emails as we try to figure out what classes might look like without a competitive season to drive the curriculum, and whether it's even safe for us to be doing our sport at all in the light of this pandemic, all while trying to train remotely for a new project at my day job. Anyways, I needed to do something that will actually yield results, and that's not just forming plans for things that may or may not happen, so here's a chapter.

He’s tightly bound when he wakes next.

Lovely.

It’s bloody wonderful how trustworthy the word of an Avenger is.

His forearms are clamped together behind his back, the same to his shins out in front of him, and he’s gagged and blindfolded. He shifts his legs, but there’s a chain connected to that binding, stretching away from him so he can’t get his feet under himself while he’s leaning against the wall. Wherever he is smells sterile, and both the floor he’s sitting on and the wall he’s propped up against are hard, solid surfaces. The only sounds he can hear are the whir of a ventilation system, his own muffled breathing, and his heart pounding annoyingly fast with the uncertainty of his situation.

He feels slightly cold, but that might just be due to his tiny meal last night leaving him unable to properly regulate his body temperature.

Or it’s cold.

No, it’s definitely cold.

And getting colder. 

Shit.

It’s too long, sitting there bound and uncomfortable with such intense sensory deprivation, as the temperature continues to drop until it’s all he can think about; how fucking cold it is, and how he would give anything for some respite, anything to stop himself from being so _ cold. _ That he would do  _ anything _ to be warm again.  _ By Merlin, _ even just a blanket, that’s all he’s asking for.

And it’s an eternity, tortured alone, before he realizes that it  _ is _ getting warmer, and he’s so fucking giddy with relief that he forgets to be on guard, forgets to prepare for whatever happens next, and he startles when there’s a hiss and suddenly he’s assaulted by a cacophony of noise. He ducks his head, unthinkingly trying to hide away and protect his ears from this new attack--though he has no hands free to do so--before there’s another hiss, and the sound abruptly cuts off once more. 

But there’s a person in here now, maybe ten meters away, which helps Harry get an idea for how big this space is with the heat he can feel radiating off of this person, this living human being, and he  _ aches _ for it, for that heat; to consume it into himself and make himself warm again.

And now he’s shivering again, but this time with  _ need _ , and if he can just get them to move closer, to just a couple meters away, then Harry could probably launch himself at the prey with a small burst of magic, and then he could have  _ all _ the warmth, just for himself.

But, Harry catches himself as he leans forward, coiling to spring before his prey has even shifted, let alone approached. He’s still gagged, so he can’t even bite if he wants to, and since he’s gagged, he can’t put a thrall on the person to convince them to come over, take the gag off, and sit themselves down nice and easy for a good long drink.

Harry knocks his head back into the wall, whining with the unfairness of it all.

“ _ If _ ,” a deep voice says, harsh with authority, “you answer all my questions, with no funny business, no movement on your part, we can look into getting you some… food, and maybe a more comfortable living situation.”

It’s obvious by the hesitation that the man is decently sure that food for Harry means blood, and that’s not a concept he’s entirely comfortable with. But Harry nods, almost tearing his head off with how enthusiastic his movement is. And he manages to not whine with need (again), because he’s capable of being civil, dammit.

There’s a beep, and the gag retracts. These people are smart enough to make sure they never have to come near him to control him.

“Go on,” he croaks.

He smells victory from the other end of his prison. 

* *  *

The man starts off easy, asking simple questions that Harry has no reason to fight.

“What is your name?”

“Harry.” 

What? Just because he’s following this man’s tune, doesn’t mean he has to go out of his way to roll over and show his belly while he’s at it. Besides, Harry’s pretty sure that that’s a little bit of respect he’s sensing from the other man.

“Full name?”

“Harry James Potter.”

“How old are you?”

… And they’ve already reached questions with complicated answers. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

There’s a pause while that answer is being mulled over. “Do you have an approximation?”

“Er, early twenties, I believe.”

Another pause, probably because his interrogator was (stereotypically) expecting a really large number instead, “So you don’t know when you were born?”

“Oh, no, I do.”

“When were you born?”

“The thirty-first of July, 1980.”

“… You do realize it’s 2014.” Which--according to basic math--should make him 34, not 22-ish.

“Yessir.”

“So you skipped a couple of years, somehow?”

“Correct.”

The man shifts at this, but for whatever reason decides he is done with that line of questioning. Harry has no doubt it will be revisited later, in excruciating detail. “Where were you born?”

“Godric’s Hollow, it’s a tiny little village in the West Country of England.”

“Who are your parents?”

“James and Lily Potter.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No.”

“How and when did they die?”

“They were murdered when I was fifteen months old.”

“And you being fifteen months old is the equivalent of saying fifteen months after you were born? Sometime in… 1981, correct?”

“Correct.” That was a good check; the man knows that time may be variable.

“What was the date of your parents’ death?”

“The thirty-first of October, 1981.”

“Do you know who killed your parents?”

“Yes.” Shit. He tenses, waiting for the inevitable next question.

“Who killed your parents?”

Shit, he has to say it, “His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever.” Once the curse stops forcing words out of his mouth, he huffs and turns his head to the side, disgusted that he still has to comply, even here.

Another shift from his interrogator. “Were you forced, somehow, to say that title just now?”

“Yes,” he growls through his teeth.

“What forced you?”

“A curse.”

“What does this curse do?”

“It forces me to say that title whenever I refer to His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever.” He growls. Fuck this curse; it’s a humiliating claim of ownership.

“Is that all the curse does?”

“It also prevents me from using any less-than-kind names to refer to His Grace with.”

“Is your parents’ murderer the same one who put this curse on you?”

Thank Merlin, he doesn’t have to say it again, “Yes.”

“Was anyone else killed in your parents’ murder?”

“No.”

“Was anyone injured?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Myself, and His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever.”

“How were you injured?”

“His Grace’s Killing Curse rebounded off of me, giving me the lightning bolt scar on my forehead, as well as a splinter of His Grace’s soul that attached itself like a parasite inside of it.”

“This piece of soul was in you?”

“It’s still there.”

A pause, then a swallow. “How was your parents’ murderer injured?”

“His Grace’s Killing Curse rebounded off of me, hitting His Grace, killing His Grace’s body, and forcing His Grace to float around as a chunk of a soul for a while.”

“What was the motive behind the murder?”

“To kill me.”

“Why?”

“A prophecy said I would bring about His Grace’s end.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No.”

“How so?”

“I was raised to kill His Grace, led a war against His Grace, lost horribly, and then served as His Grace’s trophy and plaything until I was able to escape.”

“Will he come after you, now that you’ve escaped?”

Harry sighed. That was the worry. “Perhaps.”

“What might prevent him from doing so?”

“The fact that I’m pretty sure it’s a one-way trip to this dimension.”

“You’re from a different dimension?”

“Yes.”

“Is that how you lost several years of time?”

“Yes.”

The interrogator mulled over this for a bit, then picked the previous thread back up, “Why might he come after you anyways?”

“I still hold part of His Grace’s soul, and His Grace might be more interested in retrieving the piece of His soul, and possibly myself, than He would be about staying and ruling in our home dimension. His Grace has discovered how to live forever, after all, and He might just see your dimension as another challenge to bide His time with.”

An inhale. An almost imperceptibly shaky exhale. “That is all for now; thank you for your cooperation. We will bring in some nourishment for you, and then after we exit this room, we will release your binds so you may feed yourself. You are not to move until your binds are released, is that clear?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Harry answers, fervently.

The hiss of the door, and all the noise beyond it hits him. Harry brutally tenses his muscles so he doesn’t react and move and ruin his chance to feed. A second hiss occurs, and the noise is cut off again, leaving Harry alone, except for a  _ lovely _ smell coming from the other side of the room. He waits, none too patiently, until the blindfold suddenly retracts from his eyes, leaving him blinking in the bright light of his cell. There’s a solid  _ clunk _ as the chain connected to his legs disengages, leaving his legs still bound together, but free to move around otherwise. His arms are next, releasing from each other, but no matter how long he stays there, nothing else happens; his legs aren’t unbinding.

He’s torn—is this a test? Is he supposed to wait indefinitely, to be tortured by the smell of warm blood wafting from the thermos by the door; or is this just as far as they’re unbinding him? He wouldn’t mind if it’s the second option, that they’re going to keep his legs bound, but he just wishes that he  _ knew _ .  _ Merlin _ , he doesn’t know how much longer he can sit here, he’s shaking from the strain of holding back his instincts; the instincts that are  _ screaming _ at him to  _ just move! Go get the bloody thermos already! You don’t have to listen to them; they’re only prey! _

_ “This is as unbound as you’ll be getting for now,”  _ a speaker from somewhere in the room sounds,  _ “You are free to have your meal.” _

Harry forces himself to not startle at the voice, to not show how unnerved he is at them watching him. Instead he uncurls himself, opting to crawl (though it’s really more of a drag) over to the blood instead of attempting to walk with his legs fused together. The metal of the binds sit cold and heavy on his face and limbs, reminding him that his freedoms are once again reliant on someone else’s whims.

He unscrews the lid. Drinks. Gulps down the  _ warm, warm, warm _ .

Tries to not think about the cold, lonely cell he finds himself in again. Perhaps he will find a better master here, in this organization. He somehow doubts it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Fic recs: (Here’s some Harry Potter fics based around interrogation, imprisonment, and Harry working for SHEILD)
> 
> Spellist  
> by esama  
> “The new reality had no wizards or magical nations - but it had a whole boatload of powerful and occasionally inept sorcerers. Who were usually semi-public and sometimes very popular in social media. How it worked, Harry had no idea.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366507  
> (Lighthearted crack treated seriously and a personal favorite of mine. I have a fic idea I started a couple of years ago inspired by this work, though I haven’t visited it in a while)
> 
> A Demented Upbringing  
> by Alphinss  
> “Sirius was the first to the Potter’s house. But rather than leave baby Harry behind, he takes him with him. In his madness the baby joins him on his mission for revenge. So when Sirius was captured, the baby only ends up in the same place as Sirius. Two wizards without a trial.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539031
> 
> Unsealed  
> by esama  
> “After fifty years, the trial records of a special prisoner are unsealed and the details and motives of the most well known magical murder are revealed.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115373  
> (Didn’t realize until just now that this is the same author as “Spellist”. Another personal favorite of mine. The way this story unfolds for the reader is very well done.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They might both be warriors, soldiers in their own rights, but Harry has always been trained to fight with magic, not fists, and without his wand he doesn’t stand a chance against this other pet, the one they call the Asset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow. I'm bored, so here's a chapter.

He loses track of time ( _ again _ ), only knowing the questions and the blood and the harsh, unforgiving lights above him. He gains more and more comforts; his legs released, a cot, a blanket. A change of clothes. Having the lights turn off when he wants to sleep.

He’s moved to a room with a bathroom attached; one where the door actually closes. He’s not sure whether he can believe that show of privacy. Whether he can believe that they’re not constantly watching still.

The bindings are always there though, solid and heavy. Reminding him that no matter how comfortable his cage, his freedoms are conditional, depending on his compliance. For now, he has no reason to disobey. His life is just the questions and the blood and the metal on his wrists.

He’s aware that time is passing, but he’s not sure how much. It doesn’t matter.

They offer him a shower, and he accepts, smiling as he thanks them like a good little pet. 

* * *

The tests start.

Seeing how strong he is, how fit. How much it takes to injure him. How resistant he is to pain. How quickly he heals. How those results rely on his blood consumption.

They change out the bindings. The head gear is first, turning into nodes planted unseen under his skin, which, when activated, create a force field over his jaw. It doesn’t truly gag him; he can still move his mouth while it’s activated, but nothing can pass the field, not his fangs to bite nor his voice to enthrall. It’s an invisible muzzle for their half-tamed pet. 

The bindings on his arms and legs are also changed out; replaced with more protective, armor-like versions. He dreads to know what he needs them for.

He finds out soon enough, when they lock him in a room with another pet of theirs. This one has long, untamed hair and cold, dead eyes. He doesn’t pull his punches when he attacks Harry, and they all find out that this other pet is strong enough to shatter Harry’s bones with just his fists. 

They might both be warriors, soldiers in their own rights, but Harry has always been trained to fight with magic, not fists, and without his wand he doesn’t stand a chance against this other pet, the one they call the Asset.

Harry isn’t even healed before he’s moved into quarters with the Asset. His fellow pet is a harsh roommate, and living with the Asset quickly teaches him to always be alert, to be wary of everything.  _ Constant vigilance _ he hears in his head, and he feels briefly amused as he learns the finer points of taking down someone who’s twice his size with only his fists and his fangs to help him.

The first time Harry sees the Asset take off his own muzzle, he realizes that it’s not a muzzle, but a mask, and Harry understands that the bindings on this man run so much deeper that what he can see with his eyes. 

* *  *

There are missions. They don’t matter to Harry, but he does his part, all the while sticking close to the Asset, the man who’s his keeper, his partner, and his fellow prisoner all in one.

At the end of one, things get messy (through no fault of their own, though Harry knows they’ll still be punished for it regardless) and Harry and the Asset are forced to go to ground for weeks. The safehouse they burrow in offers no sustenance for Harry, but their handlers are also unwilling to risk him going hunting (how long it’s been!). The Asset, most likely out of no other reason than to provide whatever support necessary for the maintenance of his fellow pet, offers his own blood for consumption.

It seems strange to be feeding from a living source again. How long has it been since he’s drunk something that wasn’t his prescribed thermoses or the occasional splatter he rips out with his fangs in battle?

It’s later that they find out that the Asset’s blood--with whatever it contains to make him inhuman--has altered Harry; strengthened him and his senses until his baseline matches the Asset and his freshly-fed readings are twice that. How could he ever go back to regular blood now? How could he ever give up this pure power that now exists as a constant vibration throughout his body?

Harry now makes it his goal to protect the Asset, to keep his precious food-source near. Their handlers approve, encouraging this codependency between their pets.

* *  *

“I  _ knew _ him,” the Asset pleads, pushing as much emotion as his barren personality can muster into the words.

Their master ignores him, “Wipe him, start over,” he says instead.

Harry, to the side, looks on with cold, dispassionate eyes. It’s frustrating to require your battle partner to relearn how to fight at your side time and time again.

It is even more frustrating to be the pet of someone so obviously beneath you. 

He steps in front of the Asset, like he does sometimes to calm the man, and locks eyes with him. 

“ _ You and I, we are leaving here, right now, no matter the cost to those around us _ ,” he enthralls.

Perhaps not the smartest time, locked in this underground vault, with so many armed guards standing alert around them, but also the most human he’s seen his fellow pet since the day he’s met him; the most it has ever seemed like there was something  _ more _ inside of him. He’s not going to let his partner lose that identity again.

HYDRA, indeed, are splintered and distracted by the current movement of their plans, and were not expecting to face a rebellion from within. Once the two non-humans, their two half-tamed pets, eliminated so many in the carnage of their escape, HYDRA is no doubt left scrambling to complete its plans that have already been too far set in motion to back out of without the support of its two (no-longer) mindless heavy-hitters. They have no time or resources to spare to recover their two pets right now.

Instead, the force-field around Harry’s jaw activates once they break free of the organization. They seem to know who’s in charge of this escape operation, and intend to use starvation to drive him (and therefore  _ them _ ) back into their clutches.

Without his voice to enforce its power, the thrall fades. The Asset, in its wake, gains some consciousness of self again, and studies Harry warily. Harry does his best to stay non-threatening; guilty of controlling his partner, but not enough to regret his choices. In this case, the end justified the means; They’re free, and Harry won’t turn that back now. 

...Well, almost free. With a hint of contemplation, the Asset traces the edge of the field buried in Harry’s face. Harry gives a wan smile in return and flashes his fangs, miming pulling the field from his face. The Asset proffers a knife, setting it against the edge of his skin, right where the nodes of the field are hidden. Harry nods, and the first slice begins.

This price is nothing for the taste of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs: (Here’s some mostly lighthearted Harry Potter/Avengers crossovers)
> 
> Beyond Secrets  
> by WhisperingDarkness  
> “He wasn’t a threat here - he wasn’t an issue. Just a bystander - someone who didn’t know what was really going on here. Except that Harry did know - he knew enough, because he knew Bruce and he knew lies and he knew being hunted and in the end this was Bruce’s choice.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/806693  
> (I’m pretty sure this is the first fic I ever bookmarked. Like, I bookmarked it in my browser long before I ever had an AO3 account. I don’t have words for how good it is.)
> 
> Mr. Potter and the Organization Whose Name is Too Long for this Title  
> by flyingcrowbar  
> “Mr Potter had thought the golden days of his life had long gone, until he receives a visit from a certain one-eyed director from an organization in the business of avenging.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/936060
> 
> Polite Battery  
> by LadyHallen  
> ““Excuse me,”  
> The words were spoken in the middle of an Invasion and Steve really didn’t want to deal with it right now. Except the man was so polite that they had little choice in the matter.”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164557/chapters/14124529  
> (Crack. I feel like this fic was a huge influence on how I approached my first crossover, “It might have been”.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to Steve, of course. Where else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. 
> 
> Fair warning that my posting speed will greatly slow down once I've posted the 7th pre-written chapter. While I am working on the eighth, I do have several other WIP fics to focus on, and since I teach extra curriculars at schools, my free time is slowly being eaten away as we try to prepare for schools starting again in a month. It's a weird cycle of waiting for other people to make a decision and then frantically making plans with what information you know. And also knowing that your plans are probably going to be moot when cases spike too much and everything shuts down again. God bless America.
> 
> Also, this is short, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Harry watches the news carefully. Watches the great machines fall from the sky, watches the announcements of HYDRA within SHIELD, and watches the Asset as he absorbs it all, eyes tracking the man in a patriotic suit. The man from his scant memories.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. 

“He called me Bucky,” the Asset states. He doesn’t understand how to ask questions; he was trained not to. So Harry takes his words to mean  _ why would he call me that? is that my name?? _ He hums noncommittally, giving himself time to think, and casts his mind back to Captain America; when he would have known the Asset, but not as the Asset. Harry’s been in this world long enough to be familiar with the Captain's story, and with how comfortable HYDRA was with their use of the Asset, he’d been with them for far longer than the good Captain had been unfrozen. It must have been before that then, from—what—the 40s? 30s? 

“I might have an idea why,” he responds, recalling the familiar dimpled chin and pale, piercing eyes on the visage of a certain Howling Commando. He tilts his head, “I believe you might have been a Sergeant?”

* *  *

They visit the Smithsonian to check, but Harry’s unsurprised to find his guess is correct. It made sense once he connected the dots, and once he connected the Asset to Sergeant Barnes, he couldn’t unsee it.

Still, it is gratifying to see the Asset make the connection himself, to connect the person he used to be as the previous incarnation of his current self. To turn to Harry with questing eyes and murmur, “I’m him,” with just a hint of wonder curling around the edges of his words.

* *  *

They go to Steve, of course. Where else? Who else would shelter them from their scorned masters who will soon fight to grab them back now that their grand plan has spiraled out of their control?

Besides, only Steve is in James’ memories. Only Steve holds any passing familiarity to James, and Harry is not about to begrudge his fellow pet this possibility of comfort. The man has no doubt earned such a reward by now.

But that doesn’t mean that Harry is comfortable returning within reach of the Avengers. They turned on their word once before, causing his (second) enslavement, and he is sure they will be quick to act violently against him again with his history of enthralling and feeding off of one of their own. If anything, he prefers that James approaches first, under the hopes that his history with Steve will grant him safe passage, and then, once assured of Harry’s safety, will he give the signal to approach.

James dislikes the idea of approaching a possibly formidable opponent without backup, so they decide on staging the encounter outside, where Harry can provide a second set of eyes as he’s hidden nearby. Steve’s early morning runs pose a decent opportunity; a relatively predictable time and path, low probability of civilian interference, and a low risk of civilian casualty, if things head south. The only risk is the man’s common running partner. Though, partner may be too strong a word for their relationship on these runs, as the paratrooper keeps a sedate,  _ human _ pace, while Steve sprints and sprints and sprints like only the inhuman can do. Still, this Samuel Wilson knows the Winter Soldier, and as an ally of the Captain, this makes him yet another possible combatant in this upcoming confrontation.

The morning of the mission (for while they chose it themselves, it’s still a mission), Harry is absconded up a tree, crouched perfectly still as the fog breaks over the park, watching as the mist turns a ruddy orange in the pre-dawn light. He’s not even breathing as the Captain goes thundering past, and continues not doing so as the man approaches again on his second loop.

_ No Wilson this morning _ , he thinks, and adjusts to the corresponding strategy. He watches James step out of the shadow below him. Watches Steve stop in his tracks, shock and fear and awe all fighting for precedence on his face.

“ _ Bucky? _ ” he whispers with reverence, stepping forward like he wants nothing more than to run and embrace his old friend, but feeling like any move to advance will cause this dream to disappear, wisping away with the rest of the morning mist.

“Yeah,” James rasps, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Did—Are you alone? Did you get out of HYDRA?”

“My partner got us out... we were out before they attempted Project Insight.” Jame’s voice is  _ not _ monotone, which is a relief, but it’s also more hesitant than Harry’s ever heard it before.

“Your partner?” Steve asks, surprised, “I didn’t think you had one.” He looks around, like he might be able to spot the person the  _ Winter Soldier _ claims as an equal.

“He’s recent,” —recent in James’ perspective, perhaps— “Says you’ve crossed paths before, and did wrong by him then.”

Steve just looks confused, “Who is it? What did I do?”

James shrugs, “You can ask him yourself. I’ll vouch for him, if that makes it any better.”

“I—yeah. I wanna meet whoever it was that got you out.”

James calls, “Harry,” more as a warning to Steve than as any signal to Harry himself, but he still follows the cue, dropping down near-silently behind Steve, making the man whirl around to face him and subsequently give James his back. That innate trust in James, more than anything, helps Harry keep his guard down.

He sees recognition light within the man’s eyes. “It’s you,” he murmurs as his brows draw together, “Why were you with…” his face pales as he realizes, “They—they told us you escaped in transport. You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Harry says, with a smile full of pain and malice, though maybe not towards this man, “I didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs:  
> (Here’s some Bucky/Steve goodness)
> 
> Ill With Want  
> by thedoubteriswise  
> Bucky pretends to be asleep when Steve crawls into bed, too tired to feel guilty over the quivery pleasure that settles in his belly when Steve’s arm brushes his. Steve falls asleep in about five minutes flat, unconsciously wedging his icy toes against Bucky’s leg. Bucky doesn’t move him.  
> He drifts to sleep in a comfortable haze and tries not to wonder where this feeling was two hours ago when he had Marie in his lap.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893166  
> (Oh my god, they were roommates)
> 
> may the earth not receive thee  
> by superhumandisasters  
> He turns lightning away from barns, he scares children away from unholy places, he keeps the old ghosts company after their names have been forgotten.  
> If the vârcolac had a grave, no one would visit. It is a forsaken place, and must stay forsaken.  
> ~~~  
> After the helicarriers come down, the Winter Soldier flees to the Carpathian Mountains in search of silence, safety, and peace of mind. The vârcolac finds him first.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573592  
> (Kinda fantasy horror? Like mild jump-scare horror, not anything gory)
> 
> Not Another Supersoldier Fantasy  
> by triedunture  
> Bucky finds a popular sex toy modeled on Captain America's own anatomy. Well, isn't this just perfect? Because even after all this time, he still hasn’t seen Steve’s supersoldier cock. But apparently in this day and age anyone with $29.95 can get a decent replica. The unfairness of this is of galactic proportions.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383895


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve,” Wilson whines, “You can’t just go around adopting all the ex-HYDRA assassins you come across.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Have a chapter!
> 
> If you follow any of my other work, I've cleaned up several plot bunnies into one shots, which I'll be posting throughout this week. They're all MOD!Harry Potter fics of some sort. You can find them under the titles:  
> In the earth beneath our feet  
> Soul Bound  
> Darkest Death

“ _ Steve _ ,” Wilson whines, “You can’t just go around adopting all the ex-HYDRA assassins you come across.”

Harry smiles winningly at Wilson. Wilson glowers.

“They specifically came to me. Was I just supposed to turn them away?”

“Well,” Wilson concedes, “I understand your long-lost friend here,” he nods at James, “But I don’t understand taking in the kid, too.”

Steve sighs, shifting his eyes away from Wilson’s face, “I’m responsible for HYDRA getting their hands on him in the first place. The Avengers had apprehended him for assaulting Tony Stark, and we placed him in SHIELD’s custody. We were told he escaped from transport, but,” he gestures to Harry, “he got used by HYDRA instead. We should have looked into his disappearance more…”

“Hey, no,” Harry butts in, “I don’t mind about HYDRA quietly disappearing me; that’s what they do. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. It’s you all going against your word during our confrontation that has me miffed.”

“ _ Miffed _ ,” Wilson mutters. James’ lip twitches.

Steve flinches at the accusation. “Hawkeye wasn’t supposed to take that shot.” Harry’s eyebrow raises, and Steve looks away uncomfortably. “He has a reason to dislike mind control, and perhaps it wasn’t a good call to include him in the group to apprehend you because he is compromised in that matter.”

This time it’s Harry’s turn to cringe. “I don’t  _ mind-control _ ,” he argues vehemently, “Merlin knows I’ve had enough of that in my life. The thrall lowers inhibitions, and can make people more docile if I need them to be. Sometimes, if I  _ really _ need to, I can make a strong suggestion, but people will never do something they don’t really want to do. I mainly use it to make people not freak out or attack me for feeding on them, and on occasion if I need to protect myself or someone else,” he nods to James as an example.

“You  _ feed _ on people? What the fuck, kid?” Wilson exclaims, taking a step back in fear.

Harry’s grins shark-like as he bears his fangs, “I’m no kid.”

“Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ,” Wilson breathes, eyes wide with the whites shinning bright. “ _ Please _ don’t eat me, I like my blood where it is, thank you.”

“It’s still assault,” Steve presses, nonplussed at Harry’s show, “whether you’re mind-controlling or not.”

Harry flinches. “Yeah, yeah it is. But I gotta eat somehow, and raiding blood banks isn’t exactly sustainable in the long run. I usually just stick to criminals and other lowlifes, but their blood taste like shit from all the chemicals and other garbage they’ve pumped themselves full of, so every once in a while I indulge on someone a little cleaner, usually through a one-night stand to get those nice endorphins pumping in there as well.”

“Hence Tony Stark.” Steve sounds a  _ little _ less disapproving.

Harry nods, “Hence Tony Stark. Though someone as high profile as him was definitely a risk. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, after, so I  _ should  _ have been gone before you cornered me, but…”  _ here we are _ , he motions with his hands.

“ _ You slept with Tony Stark? _ ” Wilson whispers, sounding both awed and horrified.

Harry smirks at him, “You should try it if you get the chance. He’s a  _ really _ good lay.”

Steve shakes his head, ignoring the side-conversation, “I still don’t like you assaulting people.”

“I’ve been sustaining him for a while now. I see no problem continuing,” James pipes up, almost forgotten in the conversation. He’s too good at fading into the background after years of being treated as an object instead of a person.

Wilson and Steve both look uncertainly at James. “If you’re sure…” Steve ventures, cutting his eyes over to Harry. “He’s doing this without exterior influence?” he asks.

Harry shrugs, “As far as I know. Hey, I know! Let’s ask the man himself!” Steve flinches at the attack, “Hey, James. Are you deciding to feed me out of your own free will and the goodness of your heart?”

James snorts, “Not sure on there being goodness in my heart, but I want to do this. Just me.”

Harry looks back at Steve, “Is that enough to satisfy your morals?”

Steve’s jaw clenches, but he nods, “Just as long as you respect him and back off if he tells you no.”

Harry resists rolling his eyes. “Of course, mum. Should I make sure to wrap it before I tap it, too?”

Steve flushes.

“That was a sexual innuendo, Steve,” Wilson mock-whispers, poking Steve in his side.

Steve blushes harder, “Yeah, _I got that_ , Sam,” he mutters.

* * *

Steve ends up walking in on them. Not like that—they weren’t having sex or anything—but they might as well have been for how Steve reacts with all the blushing and stuttering and lack of eye contact as he stumbles through an apology and flees the room.

Harry detaches himself from where he was suckling on James’ arm where it lay along the back of the couch and looks at his partner’s face.

“Do you mind other people seeing me feed on you?” ...perhaps he should have asked that first. “We can move to somewhere more private if you want?”

James lets his head roll to the side so he can look at Harry. He blinks, slowly, and says, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’, “I’m fine here. I like this spot.”

Harry’s not sure if James liking this spot is because the couch is comfortable or it has nice sightlines, but then he mentally shrugs. James probably considers those two to be one and the same.

“Cool,” is all he says, and he goes back to drinking. James goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“ _ Don’t you dare get blood on my couch! _ ” Sam hollers through the house. Harry snorts. As if he’d waste a precious drop.

The silence presses back in, almost comfortingly. Just their breathing and heartbeats and the slightly wet sounds of Harry’s mouth against James’ arm. The muffled sounds echoing over to them of Steve and Sam moving about elsewhere in the house.

“Hey,” James says. Harry grunts, not wanting to detach his mouth again. “Is it normal for you to have sex with your feeding targets?”

He huffs, letting go of the arm; he’s probably had enough anyway. “If we’re both interested, I usually won’t turn it down. Why?” He licks the wound closed.

“Would you be interested in having sex with me?”

Harry pauses, blinks, “Sure. Would you be interested having sex with  _ me _ ?”

James shrugs, reclaiming his arm only to run his fingers through Harry’s hair, “Maybe if we could start without the blood first?”

“Of course. Now?”

“When else?” James breathes, eyes suddenly hooded. He clenches his hand in Harry’s hair, gives a little tug, and a shiver passes down Harry’s spine in response.

“Mmm. We should probably move, then. Don’t want to break Steve if he actually walks in on us.”

“Screw Steve,” James breathes as he brings their lips together.

Harry chuckles into the kiss, “Not literally, I hope.”

James pulls away to make a face, “Jesus,  _ no _ .”

Harry smiles back, “Alright. Up, though. I really don’t have exhibitionist tendencies and I don’t intend to start now.”

*  * *

Of course, on their way to the guest bedroom they’ve claimed, they run into Sam in the hallway. The ex-paratrooper takes one look at their linked hands and direction of travel and squawks, “You’re the ones washing those sheets, you hear?” before scurrying away again.

* * *

The afterglow is still going strong when a visitor comes knocking. 

“ _ Harry! _ ” Sam calls up the stairs, like the uncultured American he is, “ _ There’s a weird blond man with a cane at the door for you! _ ”

Harry—naturally—panics. 

He runs. There’s only one man that would ever fit that description, and he barely remembers to put pants on in his haste to leave. He’s speeding out the door before James can do much more than sit up, though fully alert and blank in his Winter Soldier headspace as he is. 

He races out the back, fully intending to tear through these suburban gardens in order to get away from the Death Eater at Sam’s doorstep. He runs straight into someone even worse instead.

The man’s hands come up to grasp his shoulders, fingernails digging into the unfortunately bare skin. An awful grin splits his enemy’s face, eyes sharp and sinister as he traces his hand up to cup Harry’s neck, thumb tracing his throat.

“Yo—Your Grace,” Harry stutters, shaking like a leaf from where he stands once again in the hold of his most feared master.

“Harry, pet, such a naughty thing you did, running away like that,” Voldemort hisses with that terrible, grating voice, “Did you think you could escape me? Did you really think me so quick to let go of what is mine?”

Harry whimpers. Voldemort grabs his jaw, reeling him in close.

“I won’t forgive this for a long, long time, Harry. I trust that you won’t disobey me like that again, right, pet?” he hisses in Harry’s face.

Harry wants to cry. He had barely tasted freedom before it’d been so cruelly torn from him again. He acquiesces to Voldemort’s reclaim of ownership though, knowing it’s the safer route to please him always, in whatever he wants, especially in the light of his disobedience. “Of—of course, your Grace. I apologize for my actions. I’ll—” he swallows, “I’ll never dare to do that again.”

Voldemort nods, seemingly pleased with that answer (for now at least). Harry lets the monster gather him to his chest, then with a twist, they’re disapperating.

Harry thinks he sees James coming out the back door as they spiral away, fear and aggression and uncertainty raw on his personage as he enters the scene too late.

It’s the thought that counts, though, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs (Here's some Hydra fics)
> 
> And still we prevail  
> by StarkDusted  
> Yeah, no, fuck this, Tony would like a refund thank you, 110% would not prefer to die today, die, die like mom and dad who were dead back in that car-  
> December 16th, 1991.  
> It's an important day for HYDRA. The acquisition of the means to create several more soldiers for their cause- and the day that Anthony Edward Stark falls into their hands. The handler likes to think of it as the day of birth for their second greatest asset.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752421#
> 
> Not As You Remember Him  
> by wishasideofangst  
> What if Steve's memories of Bucky growing up weren't the whole story?  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554790
> 
> Where the Need is Greatest  
> by Niitza  
> In which Steve Rogers takes one look at the history of American military interventions since the end of World War II and nopes straight out of it, follows in his Ma's footsteps to become a paramedic, joins Doctors Without Borders, gets sent on an unsanctioned humanitarian mission to Syria, and somehow still ends up being a determining factor in Hydra's downfall - all of this without throwing a single punch.  
> Somehow, he's okay with it.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854124/chapters/42132047


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you going to use me for?” he whispers. Voldemort raises an eyebrow. Harry ducks his head, “If I may ask, your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm slowing down posting (as you can probably tell). Real life is busy, I haven't had motivation to revise my work to a standard ready to post, etc. Chapter 8 is now written though, so there's that. I might end up taking 13-14 chapters though instead of the originally planned 12, but we'll see.

Harry’s staring blankly at the wall.

It’s been at least a week, and Voldemort has rarely let him out of his sight. Most of the time, he’s chained to the bed of his master’s quarters, being good and quiet and obedient and doing his best to not gain undue attention. He hasn’t really been punished yet, and the wait is eating at him. 

For now, his master just lounges around, reading some book or another as he cards his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry, for his part, just stares at the wall, and doesn’t even dare to shift in discomfort for fear of bringing attention to himself.

Finally, a previous order makes its presence known, and Harry is forced to speak up. He rolls over, Voldemort’s eyes focused on him by the time he can see his master’s face.

“Your Grace,” he says, and he hates that he has to bring this up, but he knows it will be so much worse if Voldemort finds out he neglected to mention it, “I require sustenance soon.”

Voldemort stills, then a grin slowly stretches across his lips. Harry feels a shiver go down his spine in fear. “No,” the man says, and Harry can’t contain his sharp intake of breath.

No? If he doesn’t get blood in his system, the instincts of bloodlust will start to take over, turning him into an animal as his reasoning skills degrade. A couple of times, Voldemort let him get as far as to lose his comprehension of language, as around that stage he becomes indiscriminately violent, even against the master he is chained to body and soul, and… Oh. Oh no.

“What are you going to use me for?” he whispers. Voldemort raises an eyebrow. Harry ducks his head, “If I may ask, your Grace.”

“You may ask,” his master replies, “But I don’t believe I’ll tell you. Just know that this and what follows are your punishment.”

Harry swallows, fearing for whoever it is his frenzy will be used against.

*  *  *

The week passes slowly, but much too fast at the same time. The anxiety of knowing that he’s about to become a berserker eats at him, and psychologically, the knowledge that he won’t be fed, that he can’t stop what’s about to happen probably triggers him a lot sooner. 

It only takes four days before Voldemort has to move Harry out of his room and into a cell for fear of being bitten while he’s asleep. He visits often though, coming to watch his pet sweat and shiver and moan as he tries without success to stave off the violence rising through his blood, singing in his veins. Voldemort comes to watch, grin wide and manic on his face, as Harry slowly devolves into a chaotic weapon for his master’s use.

*  *  *

It seems to take a lot longer than a week for Harry to finally snap. 

It’s obvious when he does. Voldemort comes to visit again, and this time, instead of holding himself curled in a corner, Harry flings himself at the bars, trying to get at the blood underneath the man’s skin, uncaring that this is his master he’s trying to attack. Voldemort laughs, cackling with glee at the little monster he now has at his disposal.

Harry watches as if through a fog, aware but uncaring as he’s tossed an object. He catches it out of habit, confused as his brain doesn’t quite process what’s happening when Voldemort says something that causes the world to swirl around him. All he cares about is getting blood, and once the world settles again, he realizes that he now has access to so many people to feed from. So many sitting ducks, slow-moving and unarmed as he tears through their ranks, trapped together as they are in this tiny room. People try to hit him with bullets, with electricity, but he just tears their throats out in response to their annoying pains. These wounds are nothing that a little blood won’t heal.

All the people are long dead, drained of their sweet life-blood by the time Harry sits down in the center of the carnage, sated and just as trapped in this room as all his prey were.

* *  *

He slowly comes back to himself, sitting in stunned silence as he tries to distance himself from the horror of what he just committed, but soon he’s giving into huge, body-wracking sobs, guilt and disgust sweeping through him and drowning him in their suffocating depths.

Part of him wants to throw up all that innocent blood he just drank, but he keeps it down with long practice, not wanting these people’s deaths to be for nothing. Voldemort would just make him kill more if he did that, and those extra lives would not be worth giving into his body’s revulsion now.

There’s a crack of apparition, and Harry looks up, tear-blurred eyes settling on his master, noting without care the appearance of Malfoy and Snape by his side.

“Well done, pet,” his master coos, taking Harry’s face in his hands, regardless of the blood splattered across his pet’s jaw, and combs his long, bony fingers through Harry’s blood-soaked hair, “Well done indeed.”

Harry sits there, numb, as Voldemort has Snape check Harry, making sure he is indeed fully fed. He tries to draw what comfort he can from the presence of his fellow vampire, but Snape purposefully distances himself from Harry when they are in the company of their master, especially in the light of Harry’s recent escape act.

“You seemed much stronger this time than in the past, pet.” Harry’s unsurprised that Voldemort had been watching the carnage, “Tell me, what’s different now? What can I do to make sure you stay this strong?”

Harry swallows, but has no choice but to answer, “James,” he says, “I’ve been feeding from James.”

“James,” his master hums, using a thin finger to lift Harry’s chin so he’s looking Voldemort in the eye. “Tell me, who is this James?”

Harry shudders, but lets the words fall from his mouth, “James Buchannan Barnes, code named the Winter Soldier. He’s an enhanced human--a super soldier--who has been under the control of the organization Hydra for the last several decades. I helped him escape a couple of months ago. He’s been my main food source for almost two years.”

Voldemort bares his teeth in the parody of a grin, “Perfect, thank you pet.” He turns to Snape and Malfoy, “Retrieve this James Buchanan Barnes for me, in as best condition as you can manage.”

Harry whimpers in distress, but the pair only have eyes for Voldemort as they murmur a “Yes, my Lord,” and leave the air to crack in their wake.

Harry lets his master gather him close, lets himself be coddled as best as Voldemort can. He stares blankly into his master’s now bloodstained robes as they depart together back to his master’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs: (Have some supernatural creature fics)
> 
> It’s as Easy as On, Two, Three…  
> by flibbertygigget  
> In which Severus Snape is a djinn. This changes both more and less than what you would expect.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273176
> 
> Afterimage  
> by mariana_oconnor  
> Clint Barton's seen ghosts since he was a kid and they've always been the same: hollow empty things, right up until you draw the circle and light the candle. These days, he uses that talent to earn a living.  
> After a seance goes wrong, he meets a ghost that isn't like the rest, a young man going by the name Bucky Barnes, who died in the Second World War. Confused by how Bucky manages to stay so aware, when other ghosts fade away, Clint goes looking for some answers.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840230
> 
> It’s Incredibly Addicting  
> by misspunkrock  
> Soon, the predator inside him whispered, he’s going to give in to you.  
> Steve turned resigned, determined.  
> “Okay,” he took a breath, "I don’t know what the hell is going on or what you did to help me but if I can do the same for you then…” Steve trailed off, sliding his arm through the silver bars and into Bucky’s cell.  
> Bucky could have cried. Months he had gone without blood, months.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955277


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not even an hour later when Snape and Malfoy levitate a body-bound James into Voldemort’s throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been a hot minute, but here is the next installment! I only have the next chapter after this written, but I hopefully have time to write in the next couple of weekends, so we'll see if I can crank out some more content for this piece soon.

It’s not even an hour later when Snape and Malfoy levitate a body-bound James into Voldemort’s throne room. Harry is sat straddling his master’s lap on the throne when this occurs, head tipped back against his master’s shoulder as he’s hand fed smears of blood that still adorn them. 

He’s suckling the blood from his master’s fingers as the spell is dropped and James falls into a heap at Voldemort’s feet. He’s gasping and shaking as he looks up through his dark locks at his new master, whether he realizes that fact or not. He bears his teeth, and Voldemort just chuckles, only having to twitch his fingers to pull James forward by the front of his shirt, dragging him close enough to grab his chin and force him to look up. Harry feels both go into a tense stillness as Voldemort rapes James’ mind, taking what he wants to no doubt use against them both in the future.

When the spell breaks, James’ eyes are wide and fearful, and he trembles in his master’s grasp.

Harry can hear the grin in their master’s voice when he speaks, “Harry, pet, why don’t you go take your present and get washed up. Get him comfortable in my quarters while you’re at it.”

“Of course, you Grace,” he murmurs as he slides from his master’s lap. He kneels down to help up his fellow pet, and together, they slowly make their way through the estate.

* * *

“You’re covered in blood,” James murmurs as Harry picks out clothes for himself and his fellow pet.

Harry hums as he passes the clothes to James, keeping his eyes downcast as he murmurs back, “His Grace punished me for running away from him several years ago by starving me for a couple of weeks and making me go berserk with hunger. With magic he can teleport me to wherever he wants me to cause carnage. I have a feeling I just slaughtered a bunch of government officials a couple of hours ago.”

“It was several generals and a couple other top aides for the United States,” Severus says from the doorway. He makes the little hand signal by his side to signify that he’s alone before he enters the room. “Do you want me to resize some of those clothes for you?”

Harry looks up at the vampire to give him a small smile, “Yes please, Severus, thank you.”

Severus nods, “Just set those on the table, James,” he orders, “And why don’t you go figure out how to turn the shower on, start getting the water warming up? The bathroom is just through there,” he motions to the adjoining room.

James glances at Harry, hesitating. Harry nods, trying to show it’s fine, and James slowly sets the bundle of clothes down, then retreats to the washroom, glancing back twice before he enters the other room.

Severus sorts through the clothes, “These?” he asks, holding up a set.

“Yes,” Harry says.

_ ‘I’m not entirely sure of his plans,’  _ Severus says in his head as he flicks his wand to resize the clothes for James,  _ ‘He definitely wants to cause chaos, perhaps topple the American government, but I think he is hesitant to rule again after realizing just how many logistics he had to handle as the supreme ruler in the Wizarding World.’ _

“Thank you, Severus,” Harry says, bowing a little as he accepts the newly-fitted clothes back from his fellow vampire; the man who never stopped spying against and trying to overthrow the Dark Lord from within the wizard’s own ranks.

* * *

James is waiting next to the shower when Harry walks in. He stands straight, some strength seeping back into his posture now that they’re alone again.

“Who is he?” He questions as Harry toes the door shut behind himself.

“Severus Snape, and accolade of His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever. He’s generally helpful, and usually only cruel if ordered to be. As a fellow vampire, he’s the only one of His Grace’s followers that I can really say I’m close to in any way. His Grace knows this, and is fine with me just using ‘Severus’ as the term of address for him. I’d assume that whatever rules apply to me will be the same for you, unless you’re told otherwise.”

James’s eyes watch as Harry places the two sets of clothes on the counter. His hands had already been cleaned of blood, so hopefully none transferred to the clothes, but if any did--well--no one around here really cares.

“The other man who brought you in,” Harry continues, turning around and folding his arms as he leans against the cabinet to continue the megar introductions, “the blond one? That’s Lord Lucius Malfoy. He’s a pompous man, thinks highly of himself, but is quick to bow low to His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever. He generally likes to pretend I don’t exist, and verbally disparages me if I do catch his attention. Try to stay out of his way, and address him as ‘Lord Malfoy’ if you do catch his eye.

“The man you saw me sitting on when you were brought in, that’s His Grace, the Lord Voldemort, may he live forever. Address him as ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Master’. Do not fuck with him, his word is law, and he has the power to enforce it. I’m his trophy, his pet, and sometimes his weapon of mass destruction. He found out that your blood makes me stronger, so he had Malfoy and Sanpe bring you in so you can continue feeding me. I don’t know what other plans he may have for your future here, but I’m assuming you’ll be treated as a pet, similar to me. Just a fair warning that you might be involved in or at least bear witness to acts of sex or violence. However, we do currently have an order to wash, so I suggest we do so,” he finishes, pulling off his shirt.

* * *

Freshly washed and dressed, they lay on the edge of their master’s bed, curled up with James in Harry’s arms, trembling mildly as Harry runs his hands up and down his fellow pet’s arms in an attempt to be soothing.

Harry’s trembling, too. He trembles in fear for his fate and for that of his fellow pet. He trembles in disgust at the actions his body took today at Voldemort’s behest. He trembles at the energy from the fresh blood running through him like a live wire from his victims today.

He trembles in anger at Voldemort for ruining this world that had just started turning out good for Harry. 

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” he whispers into James’ hair.

James shakes his head. Rejecting both the statement and the sentiment behind it.

There are more words Harry wishes to say, but their master arrives, and with him, so too, must silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs: (Here’s some favorites that focus on Harry as Voldemort’s Horcrux)
> 
> The End  
> by BigJellyMonster (orphan_account)  
> Prompt by anon: Hi again, what if Harry was friends with the seventh Horcrux piece but dies due to uncle and this causes the Horcrux to take over? But what if Harry was a good influence on the 7th piece and told the Horcrux on his plans of peace and prosperity for the world, and how he wants to save the world? What is Tom decides to fulfill Harry's dreams in memory of him?  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549497
> 
> Necronomicon - Dust to Dust  
> by rightsidethru  
> It all starts on Halloween.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432364
> 
> Revenant  
> by RedHorse  
> Harry is the Master of Death, which is not ideal.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371521#


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort’s fingers grip James’s chin, holding his gaze while he jumps into his pet’s mind yet again.
> 
> This time though, when Voldemort reemerges, he sports a solidly self-satisfied smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I was thinking that with the scene change to and from the battle, I needed to put in a line break because it was a pretty jarring transition, but then I was thinking that that’s exactly what it’s like from a wizard’s perspective, right? It’s just that we as muggles don’t have a frame of reference for instant transportation, so anything along those lines would seem pretty jarring to us, even though it’s ordinary for a wizard. But that’s also probably why they typically apparate to outside of buildings, or at least to a designated receiving area, and walk in; to help aid their minds in the change of location and ease into that transition a little more.
> 
> Also, I have the rest of the chapters planned, but not yet written, so spacing between updates will probably be longer from here on out.

Voldemort’s fingers trail possessively over James’s jawline. 

Harry can see the disgust in James’s eyes, but also the muscles playing in his neck as he forces himself to comply with their master’s whims, staying still but pliant under the dark lord’s touch.

Harry is lounging on the bed, sprawled with as much ease as he can muster; a trick he developed to help keep his master more at ease as well. His eyes are active though, tracking every move Voldemort makes as he looms over where James is perched tensely on the end of the bed.

“ _ Yessss, _ ” Voldemort hisses; murmuring, “What a deliciously broken mind you have, James.”

Fingers stroke up James’s cheek. They circle back to trace his jawline again.

Harry does his best to suppress a shiver.

It’s never a good sign when Voldemort decides to fixate on something. And he’s been continuously making comments regarding James’s mental fragility over the past week. Harry knows it’s not a good sign, but he also does his best to not think about it (to not think about anything at all, really), since there’s never anything he can do. He can stress about it, but Harry being uneasy leads to Voldemort getting snappish, which is not an escalation he enjoys bringing upon himself for something he can’t even do anything about in the first place.

Voldemort’s fingers grip James’s chin, holding his gaze while he jumps into his pet’s mind yet again.

This time though, when Voldemort reemerges, he sports a solidly self-satisfied smirk.

Harry’s fingers clench the bedclothes before he can force his muscles to go lax again.

“ Желание.”

James stiffens immediately. So does Harry, if he’s being honest.

“Семнадцать.”

He knows these words, knows what reaction they bring.

“Ржавый.”

James’s breathing is coming faster now, quickening to a point where it  _ almost  _ shudders,  _ almost _ gasps.

“Рассвет.”

Harry slowly sits himself up. He’s not quite sure what’s coming, but he wants to be ready for it.

“Печь.”

Voldemort’s gaze slides over to catch Harry’s eyes. His grin is decidedly  _ slimy _ .

“Девять.”

James goes to wrench himself away, damn the consequences, but Voldemort’s there with a nonverbal body-bind before James can do much more than throw himself to the floor.

“Добросердечный.”

James  _ screams _ , agony clear in his voice. His muscles play out underneath the hold of the curse, flexing and loosening in waves as his body attempts to thrash about in response to the mind-controlling words.

“Возвращение на родину.”

Harry knows his breath is coming too fast now. He can usually take whatever Voldemort doles out, but that’s when it’s aimed at  _ him _ . It’s a whole other kind of torture to have someone else take the pain instead.

“Один.”

James is sobbing, his body rocking slightly under the force of his throes. Harry can’t think, can’t help, can’t  _ save  _ people like he was once supposedly so good at doing.

“Товарный вагон.”

The silence is eerie. Harry’s breath is so painfully loud now that James has gone still.

“ она моя. найти его,” James finally says.

Voldemort cackles.

Harry slides off the bed. He positions himself by the nightstand with his back to the wall. Who knows what Voldemort needs the Winter Soldier for, but Harry won’t let himself be vulnerable if it turns out he is the one to be attacked.

“Soldier,” Voldemort says, “Your mission is to take down as many government officials as you can in melee combat. Your targets are the ones without combat training, though they will be protected by those that do. We only have a selection of knives available; arm yourself as you see fit.”

With those last words, Voldemort flicked his wand to float in a frankly impressive collection of knives. James--no; the Winter Soldier--went about stowing a select number of the blades in the limited storage opportunities his clothes provided. He nodded when complete with the task, and fell back into the unnatural stillness that Harry hasn’t seen in long enough that it disturbs him to see it now.

Voldemort vanishes the unused knives back to wherever they came with a short flick of his wand. He offered none to Harry, but he’s also never armed Harry in past raids either. He still doesn’t know if he’s staying here or going with.

“Severus will be going with you as handler and combat assistance. Harry will provide support as well, but will primarily defend the three of you.” So he was going. Smart of Voldemort to put him in a situation where he defends the two people here he has any sort of care for. “Severus will be your transportation in and out. Since this will be a melee battle, total success is not expected. Severus will recall you when the situation begins to escalate beyond the bounds of what he feels comfortable with.”

As if on cue, Severus opens the door and enters the room. His face is carefully blank as he gives a nod of acknowledgement to the dark lord upon his entrance.

“Good,” Voldemort says, smiling creepily at Severus, “I presume everything is ready?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Severus drawls as he gives a short bow.

“ _ Excellent _ ,” Voldemort practically hisses out. He turns to Harry for the first time in a while, “Be a good pet and protect your donor and sire, will you, Harry?”

Harry bows deeply, showing subservience while also hiding his face from view, “Of course, Your Grace,” he replies as evenly as he can, before he stands back up and takes Severus’s arm in preparation for apparition. 

Shortly, Harry feels the uncomfortable tubular squeezing sensation of apparition.  _ ‘The United Nations’ _ is all Severus is able to impart on him as the world settles before the vampire starts flinging spells, the Winter Soldier jumping at a huddle of suited people to slit multiple throats in quick succession. Harry stretches his senses as much as he can to be aware of all the eyes that might take out his teammates’ backs.

The sunlight streaming through the wall of windows is distinctly at odds with the screams of the fleeing and the gurgling cries of the dying occurring within. Severus and the Winter Soldier are doing their damn best to rip and rend and tear as much flesh as possible. The marble floors soon turn slick from the spilt blood, and probably will now always have a pink tinge to them that no amount of cleaning will ever get out.

For Harry’s part, since Voldemort explicitly ordered Harry to protect, not necessarily attack, he does his best to limit his own carnage. He opts for enhanced punches to people’s heads to knock them out and concuss them wherever possible, but he does have to resort to ripping out two throats with his fangs when some soldiers get too close to Severus’s back.

Harry feels stretched thin, his senses working overtime to identify and help him neutralize any threats to his two marks that pop up amid the large room of chaos.

Sooner than he might have thought, though, Severus makes the call to fall back, and Harry and the Winter Soldier obediently hurry over to him, each taking an arm before Severus swirls them away.

Voldemort is there when they return, settled primly in an armchair with some arcane book open in his hand. His teeth flash when he acknowledges the trio’s return. “Wash yourselves,” he orders, “Then return here to report.” And he summarily returns to his book, not deigning any of the three with any attention further than that.

Severus bows before departing for his own quarters. Harry tries to be as non-threatening as possible as he guides the Winter Soldier into Voldemort’s ensuite, but experiences a strange moment of dissociation when he has to instruct the soldier in bathing itself. It was in rooms similar to this that Severus had to badger an unresponsive Harry into completing the simplest of self-care after the first couple of raids he was forced to participate in. Now here he was, aiding and abetting in the slaughter of dozens of world leaders while he barely bats an eye, instructing someone else to bathe their non-responsive selves to boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs: (Have some fics about immortality)
> 
> tell me whether he is dead  
> by LullabyKnell  
> Post-DH AU: Harry suffers a few side-effects of dying but not dying.  
> “Hey, can someone help me with this? The mirror in the bedroom’s stopped working for me."  
> “What do you mean ‘the mirror’s stopped working’?”  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191315/chapters/20857637  
> (Literally about to go reread this. One of my all-time favorites, and a rather light-hearted approach to the "dead, but not dead" trope)
> 
> dead things  
> by EclipseWing  
> Death isn't good for the soul and dead things can't die twice.  
> Harry dies too many times to be fine. After the war he goes travelling; he and Tom Riddle always were too much alike for their own good.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695769
> 
> the one where being a mythological figure is not just an Asgardian problem  
> by sinequanon  
> It’s only on Tony's most maudlin days that he wishes he wasn't quite so immortal.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865587


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good. Widow?”
> 
> “Ready and waiting,” she murmurs from beneath Harry. His lips twitch in bad humor; she might be a brilliant spy, but she’s still muggle enough that there’s no way to see under the notice-me-not that Severus had cast over Harry’s ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see!
> 
> I was stuck for a bit on how to write this fight scene, especially with where my plans were going for the next chapter. I figured it out yesterday, and it actually sped up my plans for finishing this story with how it affected the plot going forward. I actually feel much better on how things are going to wrap up now, so it just goes to show, sometimes it’s good to change your plans.
> 
> Anywho, I actually have the next chapter entirely written, and the chapter after that (the last chapter, actually), is already plotted out. I was on a bit of a roll yesterday, but it’s all cool, cause it looks like I’ll be able to finish this story by the end of the year!
> 
> Anyways, I do apologize for how short this chapter is. It was only a page long on my computer, but there’s only three scenes left after this, and I wanted the next two scenes to be in the same chapter for pacing reasons. I’ll make it up to you in the next chapter with seven and a half pages (easily the longest chapter I’ve ever written, mainly due to one scene, which is easily the longest scene I’ve ever written, and a sex scene at that). Hope you enjoy this chapter regardless!

_“Iron Man, Hawkeye; do we have eyes on the situation?”_   
  
_“Affirmative, Cap.”_

_“Yessir. Nothing to note yet.”_

_“Good. Widow?”_

“Ready and waiting,” she murmurs from beneath Harry. His lips twitch in bad humor; she might be a brilliant spy, but she’s still muggle enough that there’s no way for her to see under the notice-me-not that Severus had cast over Harry’s ledge.

When you have magic and your opponent does not, it’s fairly simple to out-maneuver them. When the Avengers started showing up to battles a couple weeks ago--originally after everything was over, but eventually streamlining their tracking and deployment process enough to interrupt the scene mid-battle and force a hasty exit--Voldemort sent Lucius to infiltrate Shield and report back on their movements. A task easy enough for a man able to sweet-talk his way into anywhere, peer into those muggles’ inner-most thoughts, and make them forget they ever met him.

Needless to say, the Avengers currently think they have a trap for Harry and Co., but in reality, the trap is set for the Avengers.

This battle feels strange, as Harry has an actual mark that he needs to keep entertained as long as possible. He’ll be separated from his sire and donor both for a lot longer than he would like, making him itch with the knowledge that they could get injured or killed without him knowing about it until it’s too late. 

_“Bucky...”_ he hears the Captain murmur breathlessly over the comms, voice full of grief and yearning. It looks like the plan is starting. _“Bucky, plea—“_ his voice breaks off suddenly. 

_“Oh you fucking frozen bastard,”_ Iron Man growls, before the sound of repulsors can be heard in the distance. 

Harry hears the crack of Severus’s apparition coming from above, closely followed by another, fainter one from several streets over. He must have finished taking out Hawkeye already, and is now headed to keep the Shield agents busy. 

Widow’s voice from below him is calm, but her heartbeat is elevated as she tries to check up on her teammates. 

“Captain?”

_“He’s down and out, Widow. A little help would be appreciated so Popsi—“_ Iron Man breaks off, grunting, _“So Popsi-Soldier here doesn’t do the same to me.”_

“Hawkeye, do you have eyes? Can you assist?”

Silence. 

“Hawkeye?”

_“Shit!”_ Iron Man curses, no doubt frustrated and losing his battle.   
  
Widow takes a look around, “I’m on my way,” she says, taking off at a run. 

...And that’s his cue. Harry stands up, breaking the notice-me-not, and leaps down in front of the Black Widow, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Говно,” she mutters. Raising a hand to her ear, she tells Stark, “It looks like you’re on your own for a bit longer. Our vampire friend is gonna try to keep me from getting to you.”

Stark grunts in some combination of affirmation and exertion, _“Good luck,”_ he manages to grit out. 

“You too,” Widow replies before lowering her hand. She cocks her head at Harry, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, smiling brittlely, but says nothing.

She sighs, “Well the—“ but has to break off to block Harry when he launches himself at her. 

He tries to get his legs around her neck, but she manages to get a hand up to keep him from choking her. She throws herself backwards, slamming him into the ground. He grabs her hair and pulls, trying to annoy and distract and maybe get her head to the side so he can get his fangs in her throat.

He arches involuntarily when she shocks him with her Widow’s Bites, and he must loosen his grip enough for her to wiggle free. She bear-crawls backwards before standing up, breathing hard.   
  
Harry bares his fangs as he pushes himself up to sitting, but throws himself in a roll to the side when he sees her hand flash down to her gun holster. The spray of concrete dust hits him before he registers the sound of the gunshots, and he keeps moving, leaping and zig-zagging, trying to get closer without getting hit. He finally manages to jump on her, sending the Window to the ground, her head hitting the pavement with a sickening crack as he hears her gun slide away. 

  
He doesn’t take the bait of her head turning to look towards the lost gun, instead blocking her opposite hand as it tries to shock him again with the Bites on her wrist. 

  
A flash of red fills his vision, and suddenly the Widow is limp beneath him. Harry looks up to his side, eyes unerringly finding his sire walking calmly towards him, the only sign of the vampire’s own battles visible in his slightly mussed hair. 

  
“Thanks,” Harry says as he plants a Portkey on the Widow. Standing up, he makes sure to step clear of her prone body before speaking the activation word: “Prisoner.”

  
Both vampires look at the now-empty ground for a moment, until Severus straightens up, offering an arm for apparition, “Come. The Soldier should be nearly done with his own task.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs (Here’s some Harry Potter & Severus Snape fics I’ve enjoyed recently):
> 
> Running Away  
> by Bil  
> AU. DEATH EATER KIDNAPS BOY WHO LIVED! read the newspaper headlines across magical Britain.  
> Snape-friendly fic.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763334
> 
> Lost Boys  
> by Bil  
> AU. Perhaps it was the whimper that broke through the boy’s fear, the evidence that Severus was as human and broken as he.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23870509
> 
> four good thoughts and a game of chess  
> by rachel614  
> Ron is just one more hot-headed Gryffindor in a long line of Weasleys. When he stumbles upon a first year being bullied, he knows exactly what a Gryffindor should do.  
> Trouble is, he's also pretty good at chess.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740844


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort turns his hungry gaze to Harry, who can’t help swallowing when he realizes what’s about to happen. 
> 
> “Come here, pet,” his Master says, voice almost gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost all of this chapter is a non-con scene. If you wish to skip it, go down to the line break almost all of the way down. (Start with “Voldemort holds a broadcasted…”)
> 
> This non-con scene is wrong in so many ways. I'm adding like literally 50 tags for just this scene. PLEASE READ THE UPDATED TAGS!! I have no idea why it’s so long. I have no idea where all of those kinks came from. I have no idea why I decided to ruin so many of them for you. My brain just took the thought, ‘Voldemort likes power’ (and Harry and Bucky can’t say no) and fucking ran with it. #SorryNotSorry
> 
> I think this sex scene was easier for me to write than usual since I’m a sex-indifferent asexual, and I basically wrote Harry here to have trained himself to be sex-indifferent as a defense mechanism, though he still very much does react to physical stimulus. Essentially, I didn’t have to try to add the emotions and reactions of romance and sexual enjoyment that I only have vague, third-person understandings of, which made the characterizations come more naturally, even though I (thankfully) have no experience with non-con or some of the kinkier things that come out later on.
> 
> Also, completely unrelated, but I make the comparison in this chapter to a man offered ice-water in a desert, and I kept it in, because that’s the turn of phrase that will come across best to a wider audience, but the misinformation was bothering me, because if you are ever trying to hydrate in the heat, know that you want to drink only slightly cool water. It will be cool enough to keep your body temperature down (unlike warm or hot water), but unlike water that’s TOO cold, it won’t make your body work too hard to bring the water UP to your body temperature (effort=energy=heat!), and ice-cold water is also difficult to drink a lot of quickly. Just know that slightly cool water is the best for consumption when it comes to hydration and temperature regulation in hot temperatures. Now icy water IS useful for regulating temperature if it’s poured over your head or down the back of your neck (Sorry, my coaching brain couldn’t let that misinformation stand unchallenged)

“Thank you Severus, that will be all,” Voldemort waves the vampire off, unable to keep his glee at their success off his face. 

“My Lord,” Severus murmurs as he bows. He closes the door on his way out, but it’s a flick from Voldemort’s fingers that causes the bolt to turn. 

Voldemort turns his hungry gaze to Harry, who can’t help swallowing when he realizes what’s about to happen. 

“Come here, pet,” his Master says, voice almost gentle. Harry doesn’t dare hesitate in obeying, doing his best to keep his shoulders relaxed as he comes to stand in front of his master. 

A cold, spidery hand comes to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into it, trying to show that the touch is welcome and appreciated. 

“Severus seems to think you did well at your task. Do you agree?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Harry whispers, voice somehow already hoarse, “Though Severus was the one to deal the final blow.”

Voldemort hums, fingertips absently stroking Harry’s face, “Perhaps. Though it sounds as if you had nearly finished the battle yourself. Severus had merely ensured a timely and safe end to your confrontation.”

Harry nods his head to the side, conceding the point. 

Voldemort smiles. The sight of it nearly makes Harry shiver, but he manages to not react. “I believe our success today calls for a celebration,” he says as he manhandles Harry around, settling his pet in his lap, back to chest. Harry goes easily, making sure he puts up no resistance, though he’s wary, as this position is not one frequently used, usually only pulled out when they have an audience that Voldemort wants to show off his control over Harry for. “ _ ~And you, my pet/~ _ ” he hisses into Harry’s ear as he guides Harry’s hands to grip the arms of the chair, “ _ ~deserve a reward.~ _ “

Harry hopes his swallow isn’t audible to his master. Rewards are rare and unpredictable. Sometimes they are genuinely meant, sometimes they are sarcastic names for what amount to torture. 

Fingers enter Harry’s hair, combing through the strands once before coaxing his head to rest on his Master’s shoulder. His master has an unusual obsession with hair, perhaps due to so many years without any of his own.

Perhaps he misses it, Harry muses.

“Soldier,” Voldemort orders, “Come here.”

Harry’s breath stutters. The Soldier’s eyes are still terrifyingly blank as he approaches. How will James remember this if-- _ when _ \--his consciousness is allowed to come back to the front? Will it be some hazy recollection, like a bad dream? Like an observer looking on from the outside? Or will it be in excruciating detail, crying out in silence as someone else controls his body against his will?

“Kneel.”

Harry knows his breathing is elevated. Is Voldemort going to order the Soldier to rape Harry? To beat and abuse him? To let Harry do the same to him? Selfishly, he hopes he’s the one taking the abuse; he doesn’t want to have to pretend like he enjoys hurting his friend and teammate (Doesn’t think he  _ can-- _ ).

“Good,” Voldemort purrs in that sibilant voice, dextrous fingers skimming up Harry’s thighs, meeting at his crotch to unbutton and unzip. He pulls out Harry’s cock, giving the bare member several rapid strokes that never fail to have Harry arching and writhing at the dry friction, but swelling with the stimulation nonetheless. “Now; suck.”

Face blank, the Soldier is no nonsense. He takes the tip into his mouth, and immediately slides all the way down. Harry shouts a hoarse little gasp, breathless at the sudden envelopment of warm, wet heat. “Fuck!” he gasps as the Solder’s throat swallows around his tip, “Fuck--” he repeats himself, but cuts off, not sure he should say how good it is.

The Soldier pulls most of the way off, twisting with intense suction as he goes, before tonguing Harry’s slit and diving down to the root again. It soons becomes clear that this is the exact pattern that the Soldier will repeat to the end of time. Dive. Hold.  _ Swallow. _ Twist and suck. Tongue. Dive again.

But by Merlin, it’s fucking working.

Harry’s a shivering, shaking mess in Voldemort’s lap. His master readjusts Harry’s legs to lay on the outside of his master’s, exposing him just that much more and keeping him in place better so Voldemort can grind up into him where he’s hard under Harry. One of Voldemort’s hand’s stays gripping a thigh, probably leaving fingertip bruises again. The other snakes up Harry’s chest, rucking up Harry’s shirt as he goes, skin papery and dry as usual as he cups Harry’s throat, forcing Harry’s chin up, but not pressing; only giving the illustration of Voldemort’s absolute control over his pet.

“Is the Soldier being good for you, Pet?” Voldemort asks, voice low with the hormones rushing through his blood.

“Ye--ah!” Harry whines, voice higher than he’d like it to be. He’s aware of Voldemort’s bony pelvis and hard line of cock underneath him, his master’s ribs pressed to his back, and the man’s fingernails digging into his tender thigh and pressed in around his jaw. Harry’s hands fist and press and clench on the armrests, the only part of his body still moving however it wants in reaction to this blessed, guilt-creating stimulation.

And the  _ heat _ . Powerful; rhythmic; sucking the soul straight out of his body. Harry feels a chill go down his spine as he realizes that the Soldier had to have been very specifically trained to suck someone off like this; this is not the first time he’s been ordered to give a blow job.

Harry’s glad he’s got his head pushed back. He doesn’t have to look at those blank eyes as they service him, doesn’t have to be reminded with every stuttering breath that his teammate is unable to consent to any of this…

“Enough,” Voldemort rasps. The Soldier stops, pulling off immediately, “Strip him,” Voldemort orders.

What follows is a process so contrastingly clinical, Harry can’t help but be reminded of when Severus had to help him bathe years ago. Harry shakes his head to clear the thought, not wanting to think about his sire right now. Too late, he realizes his mistake as Voldemort goes still underneath him.

“No?” His master asks, voice dangerously soft.

Shitshitshitshit. What does he say?

_ The truth _ , says a part of himself that sounds suspiciously like Severus.

“I--er--” he twists around to face his master, “For some reason, the way the Soldier was undressing me reminded me of when Severus did that for me several years ago… back when I was stubborn about going on raids. I--I shook my head because I didn’t want to be thinking about my sire when having sex with  _ you _ , Your Grace.”

Voldemort hums, considering, as he removes Harry’s shirt himself; the Soldier evidently knowing when to not interrupt.

“I suppose I’ll believe you, for now, Pet. No need to ruin the good mood of today.” Harry doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until it all comes rushing out at that declaration.

With his pet finally nude, Voldemort slides his hands under Harry’s thighs, pulling them back towards their shoulders and tilting Harry’s hips up in the process. Harry feels his cheeks heat up at his exposed, helpless state; nearly folded in half as he lays in Voldemort’s lap.

“Prep him for penetration,” their master orders the Soldier.

Harry doesn’t really register the Soldier dipping his metal fingers into the lube that Voldemort levitated over to him, not until said fingers start trying to enter him. He stiffens, breath stuttering in, as he tries to wrap his mind around something so  _ cold _ trying to enter a part of him that’s so sensitive. 

Harry looks up to meet Voldemort’s eyes when his master chuckles, the man’s member now jabbing him uncomfortably in his back. “Cold?” his master asks, humor mixing with the hunger in his eyes. Harry can only nod, holding the uncomfortable eye contact as he takes deep breaths, trying to get his muscles to relax so he doesn’t get overly-injured by this process.

Unlike the blow job, the Soldier doesn’t seem particularly trained in performing this task on others; the process is performed instead in a quick, efficient manner with no care given to the receiver’s pleasure. 

Their master pays the Soldier no mind. Keeping one hand holding Harry’s leg up in order to keep his hips in place, Voldemort lets the other wander, playing with Harry’s body laying so helplessly on his lap. He plays with his pet’s cock, rakes his fingers across his pet’s stomach, and pinches and twists his pet’s nipples until Harry whines at the sharp, intense pain.

Harry keeps his eyes glued to his master’s face, keeping stock on the man’s ever-changing mood. Playful, for now, maybe growing a little bored, which tends to turn him cruel.

Harry squirms, “I’m ready, your Grace.” He’s not, but the pain of the stretch will be better than Voldemort getting impatient.

A smile spreads across his master’s face, slow and slimy. “Pick him up, Soldier.”

The Soldier complies, but since Voldemort already has Harry folded in half, his arms slide under Harry’s legs before wrapping around his back to lift, keeping Harry in this weird, folded, exposing position as the Soldier stands back up with Harry in tow. He hears Voldemort shuffling his robes out of the way and lubing himself up behind him, but all Harry can think about is his own prick prodding the Soldier’s chest as he silently stands there with Harry butt-naked in his arms.

“Penetrate him on me,” comes the strangely-phrased order, but the Soldier complies nonetheless.

Voldemort groans as Harry is lowered on him. Harry, in turn, lets out a long, controlled breath as he is slid down, making sure to not whimper at the pain of the intense stretch. He’s grateful to be facing away from Voldemort, allowing him to let his pain show more freely.

Harry looks up when he realizes that the Soldier is still holding onto him, even though he’s now fully seated on Voldemort’s cock.

“Move him for me.”

When the Soldier starts pumping Harry on Voldemort’s cock, his cheeks flame in understanding. Oh Merlin, he’s really just being used as a sex toy right now.

Voldemort seems to just casually pump his hips into Harry whenever he feels like. “Faster,” he demands, then groans as the Soldier immediately complies to a truly astonishing degree. Voldemort’s breathing grows increasingly ragged, and soon Harry can feel his master releasing inside him, hips pumping a slow rhythm distinctly off of the intense pace the Soldier is still setting. 

Harry feels the second Voldemort starts tensing in discomfort. The Soldier won’t follow Harry’s orders, though, so there’s nothing he can do.

“Stop. Stop!” Voldemort hisses out, “Enough. Set him down.”

Harry is released onto Voldemort’s lap as the Soldier steps away. His master returns to boneless, post-coital bliss beneath him. There’s nothing for Harry to do but sit there and catch his breath. 

He has an unsettling strong awareness of Voldemort’s sperm dripping out of him from around his master’s softening prick.

Finally, Voldemort shifts, pulling himself back into a more seated position and bringing Harry with him. He collects Harry against his chest again, where fingers unerringly find their way into Harry’s hair.

_ ”~I promised you a reward, didn’t I?~”  _ he hisses, biting Harry’s ear.

_ “~Yes, you did, Your Grace,~”  _ Harry confirms, suddenly nervous. If that blow job from earlier wasn’t the reward…

“Soldier, suck him off until he comes.”

Oh. If that’s all, then. 

Harry melts into Voldemort as the Soldier kneels and picks up that same brain-melting pattern from before. He lets himself fall into it. He can feel guilty about enjoying the Soldier’s mouth later, tear himself up on how the man has no ability to consent at the moment during some late night staring contest with a wall when he’s wishing for the emptiness of sleep that won’t come, but right now, his master wants to see him pleasured, and by Merlin, Harry deserves to let himself feel good sometimes, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take this beautiful mouth offered to him to do so now.

Voldemort interrupts Harry’s bliss to bend him over some indistinguishable time later. Harry makes sure to keep his legs wide to accommodate the Soldier’s head. The Soldier in turn has to readjust to a lower kneeling position with the shift, mouth now coming  _ up  _ to meet Harry’s dick instead of down onto it.

Voldemort presses a hand to Harry’s lower back, keeping him down as something thin and hard starts sliding into Harry alongside his master’s soft cock. It isn’t until the first knob passes his rim that Harry’s eyes widen in recognition. 

_ Oh Merlin-- _ it’s Voldemort's wand--the  _ Elder _ wand--the most powerful wand ever created, and Voldemort’s just casually fucking his pet with it. 

The second knob slips in right when the Soldier swallows and Harry  _ whines _ from the double stimulation. He straightens out his back as Voldemort slides the wand further and further in, the unyielding stick hard and straight inside him. Harry’s never taken something so long before. How long is it again? Thirteen--no--fifteen inches? No. That’s impossible. He’ll never take it all. Voldemort will stab through something inside of him with this death stick before it makes it all the way inside.

He starts breathing shallowly when he starts to feel the tip higher up near his stomach, trying to jostle it as little as possible even as his body shakes from all the stimulation. The wand isn’t thick by any means, but it’s  _ long _ . He only feels the increasingly larger knobs when they slip in past him rim--that and the tip--the tip of this fifteen-fucking-inch-long wand as it slides further and further in. 

Harry makes a mistake of looking down where the Soldier is slurping messily at his dick, and Oh--Oh Merlin-- _ he can see the tip distending his stomach _ .

He forces himself to look back up, but the image stays in his head, even when he squeezes his eyes shut. Oh, he’s going to be  _ sick _ . Humans should  _ not  _ work like that. That tip, just pressing his skin and whatever internal organs are in the way, pressing that flesh out and out and  _ out _ \--

_ Breathe _ , says his inner-Severus voice.

So Harry breathes, shallowly, but as controlled as he can, focusing on the patterned wallpaper in front of him. Even through his discomfort, his pleasure is still building, mostly in thanks to the Soldier’s perfect, magical tongue. 

Harry’s so focused on his breathing that he almost misses the spell that Voldemort murmurs. What he does  _ not _ miss is the way Voldemort suddenly swells back to full hardness inside him, trapping the Elder wand with all it’s knobs against his walls. Harry mewls, panting, at how  _ good _ that pressure suddenly feels.

His master starts pulling the wand back out, slowly, excruciatingly, and it tugs so deliciously against Harry’s walls until one of the knobs finally presses  _ just right _ against Harry’s prostate.

He’s gone, vision whiting out as he chokes on his breath.

His head droops down with the sudden exhaustion that follows his release, and he spies the Soldier swallowing his cum below him. Harry blinks stupidly at the sight, taking a minute to even realize that those were  _ his _ hands clenched in the Soldier’s hair. He forces his numb fingers to let go.

Voldemort decides that his pet has had enough time to recover and  _ rips _ his wand out of Harry’s limp body, causing the vampire to yell out at the unexpected cruelty. 

Tossing his wand to the side, their master pushes the Soldier out of their way, grips Harry’s hips as he stands up, and starts pounding away.

Harry’s hands end up on the Soldier’s shoulders for lack of anything else to support himself with, but he lets his head hang, unable to face those dead eyes now sitting inches aways from his own face, a little bit of his spunk dribbling tauntingly out the corner of the Soldier’s mouth. 

Harry’s breathing is harsh as his discomfort turns to overstimulation. The overstimulation turns to pain when Voldemort orders the Soldier to fist Harry’s cock. They both go at him fast and harsh, Harry writhing and almost downright struggling against the punishing grip holding him in this state of hyper-sensitive agony.

It’s a relief when Voldemort comes again, waving the Soldier off when he makes Harry wiggle too much on  _ his _ precious dick.

When Voldemort lets go, Harry crumples to the ground, shaking and boneless, nerves absolutely fried like he’s gone through a round of Cruciatus.

His master settles back into his chair with a satisfied sigh, clothes no doubt put back in place already. He waves the Soldier in Harry’s direction, “Feed him.”

Harry is too weak to even grasp the offered arm, trying instead to just angle his head close enough to get a good bite in. The Soldier, realizing the problem, lifts Harry into his lap, holding the vampire upright as he offers his other arm again.

Now in a much better position, though hyper-aware of the cum dripping out of his still-twitching hole and onto the Soldier’s legs, Harry bites down, relishing in the super-charged blood like a man offered ice-water in the desert. It’s almost too rich at first and he nearly chokes on the flow of it, but he manages to swallow and drink his fill, pulling away when he feels his hands stop shaking.

Voldemort is there when he looks up, gaze steady.

“Soldier, run a hot bath. Rinse both of your selves off in the shower, then dress yourself and rest for the night. Pet, you better be in that bath by the time I finish my firewhisky,” he commands as he wandlessly pours and summons a glass of Ogden’s from across the room.

The Soldier hauls Harry up with him, herding him towards the bathroom. This time, unlike a couple of weeks ago, it’s the Soldier assisting Harry in bathing after his weak and uncooperative muscles cause him to drop the soap for the third time. 

How the tables have turned...

Harry watches the Soldier dry off and dress with no small amount of envy. To be able to lay about and sleep unmolested! That’s something he misses about Hydra; just that amount of time he spent in isolation, no one touching him, demanding to use every inch of his body for their pleasure. 

He slips into the tub, wanting to take advantage of the hot bath for as long as he can before his master decides to join him, no doubt wanting to feel his horcrux close to him as he relaxes after a successful day.

* * *

Voldemort holds a broadcasted ceremony to announce his rule the very next day. The masses of people that gather to hear this mysterious man, the one taking credit for this slaughter of government leaders the world over, for defeating and subsequently abducting half the Avengers, are timid and quiet. Any rowdy rebels trying to make a scene get a stunner or a silencing spell thrown their way before they can shout more than a handful of words. 

All of the circle is there on stage as a show of strength. Harry keeps his shoulders back, projecting confidence to not dishonor his master and get punished for it later. His hands clench compulsively behind his back though as his stomach twists itself into knots. The Soldier is a solid presence next to him, face as blank as ever. 

Severus stands next to Malfoy as the latter is introduced as Minister Supreme; the one to run day-to-day logistics in Voldemort’s proxy. Face grim, but head lifted in something approximating pride, Snape looks the part of a supporting figure in this worldwide coup that they’re wrapping up. 

Thunder rumbles suddenly in the clear blue sky, cutting through Malfoy’s carefully planned speech. Harry thinks to the four Avengers sitting in their dungeon, and has to bite his lip to hide his smile at which one this is approaching now. 

Thor touches down suddenly, kicking up a cloud of dust as he lands. He struts forward confidentiality, reappearing through the haze in a show of drama. 

“This has gone too far, Snake-Man!”

“Prince of Asgard.” Voldemort steps forward, contempt clear in his voice, “How wonderful to have you as a guest with us today of all days,” It very obviously isn’t, if the tension in Snape and Malfoy is anything to go by. “Isn’t it hypocritical of you to say that this is too far?. Is this not the same as your own father has done for millennia; conquering realms of those weaker than oneself?”

Snape shoots a stunner into the sky, felling the Falcon before he could get in close enough to shoot. 

Voldemort looks on with disdain to where Thor stands, the god silent but furious, “Are you just the distraction, then?” he sneers, “So embar—“

Distantly, Harry hears the sound of an arrow being loosed. It thuds solidly against the back of Voldemort’s skull, piercing through the eye and brain in its path. 

Then his scar explodes, pain shooting jaggedly down his face and neck, stabbing into his chest before spearing along his limbs and into his fingers and toes. 

It’s only due to his experience with the Cruciatus that he’s even vaguely aware of falling to the floor. He’s probably screaming himself hoarse as well, but it’s impossible to focus on anything but this absolute  _ pain _ right now. 

Blissfully, though, everything soon goes dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Recs (Here’s some hopefully more lighthearted fics about soulmates/ fairytale romance)
> 
> Your Soul is Bound to Mine  
> by a_dale  
> A collection of soulmate AUs between Harry Potter/multiple Avengers.  
> All will be posted as one shots with the potential for more!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1272098
> 
> Beloved of the Sea.  
> by Michaelssword  
> “Does the Odin King live?”  
> “Yes.”  
> A cry of rage echoes through the sea, a storm brews from deep within it, because the water asks a question to allow safe passage, and this isn’t the right answer.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325027  
> (Beautifully written in a fairytale style)
> 
> Bell Tolls  
> by esama  
> The most severe change between past and future isn't the technology, Steve thinks. Its how people view Soulmates.  
> In the future they don't even call them Soulmates anymore.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385820  
> (I lied, this one is not lighthearted; soulmate trope inversion)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s first thought is that he’s back with Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am decidedly nervous posting this. I am proud of reaching my goal of finishing before the end of the year, yes. But I am unpracticed in truly ending longer stories. I am not quite satisfied with this result, but I’m also unsure what else to do with it.
> 
> If you have any constructive criticism, I welcome it. If you have any comments in general, please know that they always make my day. Otherwise, thank you for coming along with this journey, and I hope you enjoy this conclusion!

Harry’s first thought is that he’s back with Hydra.

He’s surrounded by the hum of muggle electricity, strapped to a horizontal surface; a bed, by the feel of it.

But the bed is too soft and the restraints are too kind to be Hydra, lacking any bite to them when he tries to shift.

The world is dim around him as he opens up his eyes, the sterile ceiling appearing grey in the low light.

“I’m here,” Severus murmurs from his right.

Harry tilts his head to spy the vampire sitting in a chair some feet away, and he gives himself a moment to just take Severus in. 

His sire is gaunt; eyes sunken and bruised; cheeks more hollow than they should be. He looks like he’s not fed in days, and Harry suddenly gets the feeling that more time has passed than he’s aware of.

“Where are we. What day is it.” His voice is too hoarse to make those queries into questions.

Severus sighs, standing, “There’s some water for you. We’ll start with that.” As usual, he leaves no room for argument.

The movement of Severus pouring a glass from the pitcher on the bedside table brings Harry’s attention to the bracelets that Severus bears, one on each wrist. Harry can’t immediately identify the metal, as it looks to be somewhere between silver and bronze, and it’s covered with tiny engravings all around, seemingly runes, though they’re not in any combinations that Harry’s familiar with.

Severus cups the back of Harry’s head, helping him tip it up enough to drink from the glass without spilling all over himself.

Parched, Harry chugs the water greedily, and is disappointed when Severus doesn’t refill the glass when he’s done, instead replacing it on the table before tackling Harry’s restraints-- which, fair--Harry can get his own water once he’s freed.

“We didn’t know what state you’d be in when you woke up, so we took precautions to make sure you couldn’t hurt yourself if you woke up panicked, or hurt anyone else if you woke up feral,” Severus’s voice is quiet while he undoes the buckles. The restraints were padded leather, Harry sees, and it’s sad that he’s experienced enough restraints in his life that he can say that these were the best he’s ever had. Secure and safe and honestly down-right cosy.

Harry’s able to sit up by himself, though by the time he’s done so he’s already quivering with fatigue from just that simplest of actions. He glances at the water, but decides that another glass is not worth the effort right now.

“Where are we,” Harry demands again, voice more sure than before.

“The medical floor of Avenger’s Tower,” Severus replies, grimacing, as he settle back in his chair, “It’s been approximately a week and a half since you were last awake.”

“When Voldemort took an arrow to the face?” Harry verifies.

“Indeed,” Severus confirms, then just looks at Harry like he’s supposed to notice something. “Harry,” he says, grinning slowly, “what did you just say?”

Harry’s definitely confused. “When Voldemor--Oh. Oh! Voldemort!” He’s positively beaming now, “Voldemort!  _ Voldemort! _ Voldefart! Mouldymort! Fuck you! Oh fuck you, you fucking fuck face!” Harry laughs aloud, shaking with the high, “Oh Merlin. Is His Gracelessness really, truly dead? How?  _ How?! _ ”

Severus’s face is gleeful--a look that Harry isn’t sure he’s ever seen on his sire--as he explains, “That arrow you saw, it was enchanted by the Trickster God, Loki, to consume the entire soul of whoever it pierced, no matter where in space that soul may be.”

“So it destroyed the Horcruxes?”

“It destroyed everything  _ held  _ in the Horcruxes, yes. It reached out to all the pieces of that monster’s tattered soul and burned them all to a crisp in one fell swoop.”

“I believe I fell to the floor screaming when this happened? I remember being in a lot of pain.”

“Considering I could  _ see  _ the Horcrux burning within your scar,” Severus says dryly, “I’m not surprised you were in pain.”

Harry snorts, and Severus twitches a lip in response. “Okay, okay. So what happened after I passed out, then?”

“I actually stunned you,” Severus corrects, “To put you and everyone listening to your screams out of their misery. Then I stunned the Soldier, before he could figure out who to attack in his brainwashed attempt to protect his perceived masters. And then--” he takes a deep breath, “And then I Avada’d Lucius,” he says, voice tightly controlled with hidden grief.

Harry is personally rejoicing at the wizard’s death, but-- “He was your friend,” he says, matching his sire’s tight tone.

Severus shakes his head, snorting self-deprecatingly, “He willingly and loyally followed a genocidal dictator. For decades. Without ever seeming to question the morals of doing so. He may have been my friend once, when we were young, but he has-- _ had _ \--proven, time and time again, that he holds halfbloods like us,  _ creatures _ like us, in no small amount of contempt. I did not hesitate to turn my wand on him,” he snarls with finality.

Harry nods, “He had been your donor, though, righ?” He looks critically at his sire, “With all due respect, Sire, have you  _ fed  _ since then?”

Severus sighs explosively, “I have attempted a couple of times, with some modicum of success, but I will admit, the transition from a lifetime of magical blood now to purely muggle blood is… rough.”

Harry can relate. “It took me maybe a month to get used to the lack of energy transferring when I first came here,” he nods at Severus, “though your transition will probably be worse.”

Severus sighs, fingers tapping the arm of his chair, “My temper is already getting shorter, though that might just be from these dunderhead agents running about.”

“Well, you are going through a withdrawal, so your non-existent social skills are only going to get worse from here,” Harry winks.

Severus scowls, “Stop pretending to be sensible, you Gryffindor brat.”

Harry smiles winningly and decides to try pouring himself some more water from the pitcher on the nightstand. He winces as the act of even reaching over pulls at his tight muscles. Severus watches with concern, but does not interfere.

“Regardless. After I felled Lucius, I surrendered.” Harry fumbles the pitcher, nearly dropping it.

“ _ You _ surrendered?” For some reason he can’t seem to picture the proud man willingly giving himself over. (Although, he  _ did  _ willingly swear loyalty to old Voldyfart at one point…)

“Yes.”

“And they just accepted that?!”

“They’re disgustingly noble,” he says acridly, “Of course they didn’t hurt me. They just kindly arrested me and even thanked me for taking down my fellows. Naturally, I used their good mood to bargain for yours and James’s medical care.”

Harry hums, sipping his water. “You said ‘bargain’.” His eyes sharpen as they alight back on his sire, “What did you promise in exchange?”

Severus closes his eyes, head bowing ever-so-slightly. “With Voldemort and Lucius dead, the world needs a scapegoat,” he murmurs as Harry’s breath catches, “and neither you nor James deserve punishment for crimes you barely had a choice in taking part in,” Harry lowers his glass, blood running colder than the water held inside, and Severus chooses that moment to look back up, eyes hard and determined as they bore into Harry, “I will be tried and punished for our crimes against this world.”

It’s as if someone has cursed Harry’s organs to turn to stone. 

“No…” he whispers.

“In exchange,” Severus continues, utterly ignoring Harry, “you and James will receive the best of care, both mentally and physically, until you are ready to re-enter society; whatever that means for you.”

Harry’s shaking now, and it’s anyone’s guess whether it’s from anger or exhaustion. “No,” he croaks, “No. No, you don’t get to do this.” Severus is gentle as he leans forward and eases the glass from Harry’s hand. “You don’t get to just run away and  _ leave _ me here!”

Harry’s breathing is ragged, throat on fire from practically shouting after so long disused. He blinks, trying to clear his blurry eyes, and a shaky inhale only makes him aware of how weak his body is right now.

“Harry…”

“No.” 

He knows he’s being petulant, but Severus knows he’s too emotional to be anything but stubborn right now, so they just sit back in tense silence as Harry tries to get himself back under control. Harry becomes annoyingly aware of a clock ticking away outside the room, along with heartbeats of what seem to be guards posted at his door.

“Who shot the arrow?” he suddenly says, “Hawkeye was still captured, right? I didn’t think Loki had any skill in archery, did he?”

The corner of Severus’s mouth twitches, “We had captured Clint Barton, yes, but it turns out that he has a protegé--one Kate Bishop--who happens to also go by the name Hawkeye--”

“Well, that’s not confusing at all,” Harry mutters.

Severus raises an eyebrow at the interruption, but continues, “She was the one who took the shot.”

Harry gives a quiet smile, “Well, congratulations to her on that spectacular shot.”

* * *

Doctors come and go. Loud machines hum and grumble everywhere. Muggles of various specialties migrate in and out of his room.

Soldiers pace outside his door. Footsteps tapping against the tile floor. To keep him in or others out, he doesn’t know.

Harry can only escape the sounds when he sleeps. When he’s awake it feels like there is too much  _ life _ and it’s  _ pounding into his head pulling him into pieces from the inside out and _ \--

* * *

He huddles even smaller in James’s arms, feeling safe and protected from the world. Metal fingers scratch at his scalp, pulling a piteous whine from the back of his throat. James hums in question at the sound.

“It’s been a  _ month _ ,” Harry whines, “It’s been a month and I  _ miss my sire _ . I miss  _ Severus _ .”

James shifts, pulling Harry in tighter, “Hush, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of Harry’s head, “we’ll get through it.”

“What if they sentence him to death?” he whispers, having voiced this fear countless times before, yet unable to see past it. They haven’t turned on the news in nearly a week, Harry too much of an anxious mess to be able to handle that slow stream of information any longer.

James just responds by tilting Harry’s chin up and kissing him soundly. He’s argued this point so many times that he has nothing else to say about it, nothing else that will alleviate Harry’s fears. Harry lets himself be distracted, carried away by the visceral feel of his partner alive against him.

Distantly, he hears the elevator to the private floors start up, and he pulls away to stare at the doors when he recognizes the quick pulse that can only belong to Steve Rogers.

James focuses there too when the sounds reach his hearing range, and soon the steel doors are opening, revealing Steve, and with him--with him--

Harry barely even registers that he’s up and moving before he collides with a solid presence.

“--years of community service--” he hears Steve tell James behind him, but he’s focused on wiry arms wrapping around him.

“Miss me, did you?” Severus snarks under his breath, but there’s a lightness to it, and Harry’s crying, and he’s laughing, and--

He’s safe.

He’s  _ safe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Fic Recs! Here’s some Marvel fics I’ve read recently:
> 
> There’s Been Worse Days  
> by patrochilles_trash  
> “You guys must watch a lot of movies,” Peter quipped, almost in disbelief of how ridiculous this whole situation was.  
> He felt the unmistakable feeling of a cold metal barrel being pressing into the small of his back, and his Spidey Sense buzzed sharply in his ear.  
> The men may have been idiots, but they meant business.  
> “I would keep your trap shut if I were you,” one of them said next to his ear.  
> OR  
> Peter and Flash get kidnapped from a decathlon field trip, and this is the outcome.  
> I had to just get this out of my head so I could stop thinking about it. That's pretty much it. It's not heavy, and honestly pretty fluffy.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042068  
> (Rightfully tagged for BAMF Peter Parker)
> 
> Getaway Car  
> by squadrickchestopher  
> The guy regains his balance and starts running again. He slips one more time, slides a little more, and then suddenly he’s right next to the car, fumbling at the handle of the passenger side door. A blast of cold wind comes as he yanks it open, practically falling into the seat in a swirl of snowflakes.  
> “Go, go!” he yells, and Clint goes. He doesn’t even question it, just slams the car into drive and shoots out into the street, skidding a little on the ice.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28102020  
> (A helluva lot fluffier and crackier than the title and summary lead you to believe)
> 
> Gingerbread & Highlighters  
> by Anonymous  
> He stole another glance at the big guy at the back table and tilted his head consideringly. The guy looked like he was attempting to glare his notebook into submission. Too bad studying never seemed to work that way. Big Guy seemed to realize that at the same time because he huffed and shoved his hand irritably through his hair again--somehow managing to avoid dislodging the marker tucked behind his ear--and dropping his pen on top of the notebook to rub at his eyes.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097958
> 
> halves of whole  
> by valkyrisms  
> Laura Barton sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night with the cold certainty that the man laying in bed next to her is not her husband.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947870  
> (I’m usually not a fan of Laura’s existence, because I can and have gone on rants on how MCU ruined Hawkeye’s character (like how he’s supposed to be HOH, but they got rid of that and it’s so ableist and was a huge part of why he had great eyesight and aim, and he grew up in a circus, and he loves purple and pizza and coffee and his dog--) but THIS FIC. OMFG. gjdl;aghdklhfklsd JUST READ IT.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos feed my soul! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> (and given the nature of this fic, if you think I missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [As The Blood Runs Dry Cover Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446528) by [AMaskOnTwoFaces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaskOnTwoFaces/pseuds/AMaskOnTwoFaces)




End file.
